


XOXO

by sylvanWhispers



Series: Valentine AU [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Codependency, Conditioning, Daddy Kink, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Food Issues, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Relationship, Gender Issues, M/M, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Sugar Daddy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, understatement of the year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/pseuds/sylvanWhispers
Summary: It's now been several months since Theon discovered that his boyfriend is the same psychopath that abducted him three years ago. Released from his inpatient facility and afraid to tell anyone what he knows, he finds himself locked into a relationship with his former torturer... with all of the vile conditioning he's tried to bury working its way back to the surface.Direct sequel to "Be Mine".
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy & Yara Greyjoy
Series: Valentine AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759165
Comments: 101
Kudos: 197
Collections: Thramsay2020 Kinkmeme Event





	1. Early June

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyDagger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDagger/gifts), [p_totel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/gifts).



> For the kinkmeme, HappyDagger asked for “a combination of praise and possession.”  
> I, in my infinite hubris, thought this open ended prompt would be easy. I initially tried to fill it with a different idea, but that one wound up shaping into a full-length multichap story (the first chapter is 15K and counting). And that's not an undertaking I want to invest in before Katabasis is complete, so. We're getting this instead: the daddy kink sequel to Be Mine that HD and Totel bullied me into writing.

Theon knew he was running out of time.

He had been aware of it ever since that wretched night in the Hornwood, where the ugly truth was finally exposed to the air. With every hour, every day, every week that passed, Theon’s chances of freedom grew slimmer.

Sometimes he pictured himself in a police station, sat in an interrogation room to give a statement, like on one of those procedural crime shows. He had given his statements from a hospital bed the first go around, and was thus forced to mostly consult his imagination when constructing this scene. He would sit at that metal table with a paper cup of burnt coffee and tell the faceless cop everything - _it's true, officer. M_ _y boyfriend is the psychopath who tore me apart and ruined my life._

The officer would be concerned at first. “Are you sure?” he would ask, alarmed but professionally cautious.

_He told me himself. He knew to find me in the place it all started, and then he beat me and raped me just like he used to._

“When was this?”

Then Theon would bite his lip and clench his fists. _Months ago._

The sympathy would drain away to be replaced by bewilderment. Theon would hurriedly try to explain himself, to say how Ramsay threatened him and his loved ones, how the Bolton family’s connections made his insides shrivel in fear, how everyone already thought of him as unhinged and he had no proof.

He knew it would do no good because there was no excuse.

With each day he went without telling the truth, the less plausible the truth became. The bruises and welts on his back were faded. Ramsay still came by the recovery facility every Sunday for visitor’s hours, and every time Theon received him. The saving grace was that Theon’s off-site privileges had been suspended - he’d been such a wreck upon return from the hunting trip that he’d had to tell his therapist _something_. So he confessed to running away to see the old cabin, resulting in a breakdown. For the past few months Theon had been shielded from spending any more nights in Ramsay’s home. He had been so sure that the distance would break whatever twisted spell the man had cast.

Instead it only made his body ever heavier with shameful yearning. Once the ban was finally lifted his traitorous body actually had the gall to feel more relief than fear. Theon had tried to be alone and he’d tried to be strong, but it had been so miserable that he was no longer sure why it was meant to be worth it.

It didn’t help matters that Ramsay had been sweet as pie in every encounter since the Hornwood. As if it could somehow compensate for the deliberate and strategic destruction of Theon’s world. It was all an undoubtedly an act, the facade of a man who simply didn’t want to go to prison ( _I don’t want him to go to prison either_ , Theon thought with disgust). Why did Ramsay have to come back at all? He had gotten away with all of it! He could have let them live the rest of their lives apart and they’d both be better off.

The knock on his door may as well have been a gunshot for how badly Theon startled. He swallowed dryly, creeping to the threshold and undoing the latch with trembling hands. It was always a strange rush to see Ramsay standing on his step, with Theon's body torn between rigid tension and desperate relief. It got harder to think clearly when the other man was near; he always found his thoughts slowing, his brain apparently opting out of the situation and his physical sensations taking over in its stead.

Ramsay always looked good, like visiting Theon was something worth putting on a nice shirt for. He smelled good too, the faint musk of his sheepskin jacket and the spice of his cologne mingling with the bouquet of sweet winter flowers he was holding.

“Everything alright?”

What a laughable question. Of course it wasn’t. Theon stepped aside for him anyway. In doing so he caught sight of the gift bag in Ramsay’s other hand and inwardly groaned.

“Ramsay, I can’t accept any more stuff.”

“What are you talking about?” Ramsay casually kicked the door shut. “I ordered it just for you. You’ll love it.”

“It’s too much.” Theon barely flinched when Ramsay planted a kiss on his cheek. “The girls here have started making fun of me.”

 _They call you my sugar daddy_ was too mortifying to force past his lips.

Ramsay laughed. “Aw. I just want everyone to know you’re mine. Is that so bad?”

Theon allowed him to press the bouquet into his arms. “I still have the last ones you gave me.”

A week wasn’t really long enough for fresh flowers to completely wilt. There was usually at least two vases of them in Theon’s flat at any given time. He’d have to dig around for another large glass or pitcher to squeeze the new additions in.

“I only want you to feel supported, especially after that awful fight we had. You had such a terrible scare.” Ramsay threaded his fingers gently through Theon’s hair. “Besides. You’ve never gotten nice gifts before, have you? I think you deserve it for being so good for me.”

Theon felt his knees go weak and his mouth dry, the praise going straight to his veins. And it was true, he had never gotten nice gifts, not since his mother died and he went to the North. His presents from the Starks had always been of the practical kind, useful but often boring and not especially indulgent. Many, many gift cards.

Ever since The Cabin Incident, Ramsay had showered him with expensive candy and nice clothes, imported tea and silk scarves. The shadowcat pelt-turned-blanket still adorned Theon’s bed, and his one attempt to research how much the thing was worth had made his head spin. Everyone thought it was just the sweetest thing - a loving boyfriend proving his dedication in the aftermath of Theon’s latest mental break. Especially now that Ramsay Snow was officially Ramsay _Bolton_ and surely had no shortage of pretty, sane and undamaged romantic options.

While Theon found a serviceable glass to settle the flowers in, Ramsay set about finding a movie for them to stream. Surprisingly they had found a comfortable middle ground in nature documentaries. Ramsay liked animals, at least to the extent that the inherent cruelty and strangeness of nature was mildly amusing enough to keep his attention for an hour. Not that he usually kept his focus on the screen.

It was the height of surrealism to be pulled to the couch and gathered against Ramsay’s side, breathing his scent and feeling his warmth. Within twenty minutes’ time, those hands that had caused Theon so much suffering would inevitably begin to wander, stroking and squeezing up the line of his body.

“Your doctor says you’ve been doing so well,” Ramsay said mildly, fingers teasing at Theon’s waistband. “You’re finally ready to transition into outpatient care.”

“Uh. Yeah.” He tried not to think too much about Ramsay playing the concerned boyfriend and wheedling information out of the facility staff. “I’m still going to have to come in three times a week but… we’ve set a date.”

Over six months of inpatient treatment later, he was somehow deemed fit enough to be shifted into the outpatient program. Yara would be coming up later that week to move him into his own place.

“I’m so excited. We’ll actually get to do something special for Midsummer. Especially since we missed May Day...”

Great. The last time they did something special for a holiday, Theon had nearly succumbed to an anxiety attack and been ill in a public bathroom - and that had been before he learned the truth. At least at the facility he could be relatively safe in the knowledge that Ramsay couldn’t hurt him. Once they were out in the world… anything could happen.

Ramsay felt him tense and shushed him gently. “You don’t trust me, sweetling?”

“N-no.”

He squeezed Theon tighter. “But you _love_ me, don’t you.”

“… yes.”

Ramsay’s chest fell with a pleased sigh. “And I adore you. I always have, even when no one else did. You remember that?”

Theon nodded sadly. How stupid he’d been to think he had actually found a normal guy, patient and willing to overlook all of his damage. No one was that good. The only person who could love him now was the very man who had made him this way.

“We’ve had our bumps along the road. Every couple does. But you’ll see, everything will have been for the better.” He pressed his lips to Theon’s temple. “… You haven’t opened your gift.”

“Oh.”

Theon blinked, distracted by the feeling of fingers ghosting about his navel. The bag with its tuft of pastel tissue paper was sitting on the coffee table. It felt dirty to accept all of Ramsay’s presents. Not only because of the obvious wrongness pervading the entire situation, but also because none of them felt freely given. It felt like with every treat and parcel that Theon was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole, racking up more and more interest on rigged loans… and he’d heard enough rumors about what happened to people who defaulted on Bolton loans.

His hand shook as he rifled through the wrapping. His breathing stuttered when his fingers brushed silk and lace.

“I’m taking you out on Friday to celebrate,” Ramsay breathed against his neck. “I want you to wear that for me.”

“… I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

“Don’t be like that,” Ramsay said, fingers finally slipping beneath Theon’s waistband. “It’s a gift. And I know you’d never want to disappoint me.”

Theon’s cheeks flushed as calloused fingers massaged his scar tissue, circling and stroking the stump like a clit. His head fell back against Ramsay’s shoulder. He felt the sting of teeth nipping at the exposed arc of his throat.

“I-“ His words choked off and blended into a moan as Ramsay rubbed into a particularly good spot.

“Are you mine?”

“ _Yes_!”

“And no one else could make you feel this good. No one knows your body like I do.”

Tears were starting to well in the corners of Theon’s eyes as he shook his head. “No.”

“No, what?” Ramsay cruelly teased as the swollen flesh.

“No _sir_ , ffuck-“

“You’ll remember your manners when we’re out together,” Ramsay said, his other arm wrapped firmly around Theon’s waist like an anchor. “Everyone is going to see how well behaved my boy is.”

“Ramsay plea- I need it,” Theon was panting like an animal, hips canting up to press harder against Ramsay’s ministrations.

His master had such big hands, strong and weathered and rough, but also artful in all the cruelest ways.

“Do you need daddy to take care of you? Your needy cunt is leaking all over me,” Ramsay whispered. “Desperate slut.”

“Yes, yes I need it, I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Promises, promises. You’ve been naughty for me in the past. You just can’t help yourself. You’re wicked.”

“I’ll do better,” Theon sobbed as he teetered painfully close to the edge. “I’ll behave, I swear!”

Ramsay kissed him deeply, warm and possessive. His lashes brushed against Theon’s tearstained cheeks as he pressed their foreheads together.

“Come for me then.”

His fingers began to stroke and squeeze in a vicious rhythm. It wasn’t long before Theon’s vision was burning white.

He collapsed bonelessly against Ramsay’s chest, insensible. His eyes glazed over as he stared into the ceiling, the sound of the documentary a muddled drone in the background.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Ramsay said, idly petting him through the afterglow. “When you move into the new place, don’t forget to give me the key.”

* * *

Theon was not going to miss the Safe Harbor facility.

The rigorous counseling and relentless implementation of meal plans might have been of some benefit, but he was not going to miss being dictated and scrutinized at all hours. Most of the girls he had been in treatment with had either transitioned out themselves or were soon to do so. A few had shared contact information but Theon wasn’t expecting much; he suspected that for all of them, their stay in trauma rehab would be yet one more episode that they’d all like to forget.

Theon didn’t have many belongings and fewer still were things worth keeping. An embarrassing amount of his clothes were actually passed onto him from his sister, who not only shopped predominantly from the men’s section but was also officially more jacked than he was. Frankly all Ironborn dressed more or less the same: worn jeans, plain shirts, dark waterproof jackets. Theon had found it all painfully boring, as shown when a few of the girls had found photos of Old Theon that had somehow survived his social media shutdown.

“Fucking hell, you were _hot,_ ” Rena had said, clutching her phone screen a scant few inches from her eyes. “I mean, you’re cute now in a scared rabbit kind of way, but _damn._ ”

“… Thanks.”

“I would not have pegged you for being some kind of hipster dandy, though.”

“I was not!”

“Uh, you wore a leather jacket with a porkpie hat. You pretentious dork.”

Well. No point thinking about days long past. The fact of the matter was that Theon just didn’t have nice clothes anymore.

He had a few sweaters with designer labels on them but all of which had once been Ramsay’s. They were overly large on his frame, hoodies that hemmed down to mid-thigh or wide necked sweatshirts that nearly went off his shoulder. He suspected that Ramsay just liked seeing Theon in his clothes along with the visible reminder of their difference in build. As if it weren’t obvious.

He boxed up his humble possessions, as well as the gifts that Ramsay had used to try and sweeten his way back through Theon’s defenses. The last thing he needed was for Yara to see them and accuse him of being a sugar baby like everyone else had.

Because he _wasn’t_. Ramsay was trying to take advantage of Theon’s neglected, affection-starved background and it _was not working._

While Theon packed, his sister had spent the morning getting a proper debriefing from his therapists, doctors and nurses. Hopefully she was only hearing all the favorable details of how his health was so improved and he’d made such great strides in his recovery. He tried not to feel too much like a liar.

Everyone applauding him for his progress only made things worse, because surely Theon was as unhinged as he had ever been. He had gone and done the exact opposite of moving on after all. Yet ever since coming to terms with Ramsay’s true identity, Theon had felt a bizarre calm and clarity overtake him. He actually felt a twisted sort of relief. His captor was no longer a faceless demon in his nightmares. There was also something horribly gratifying at being able to once more submit himself to Ramsay’s will. Theon had been fighting so long... now he could finally give in and rest.

On Harlaw his world had been miserable and bleak, sheltered but empty. He had felt like a ship without wind or tide, stagnant and wasting away. Now, for better or worse, color and energy had returned to him. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to feel anything anymore unless it was laced with an undercurrent of fear.

* * *

The new place was located in a little fishing village that was embraced by the Weeping Water to the west, the Last River to the east, and the coast at its front. It was also just south of the railway line, meaning that Theon could easily shuttle to his therapy appointments or into the city without driving (something no one was ready to let him do yet).

It was also very, very close to Ramsay’s house.

The lonely beach cottage was humble and in all honesty a bit ugly, in the way that rather old and practical houses tended to be. It was boxy and squat, with stone walls and a thatched rooftop. The plumbing and electric were pretty shit and most of the heating was done by the traditional Northern hearth, but its reliability and position by the sea rang true to Ironborn priorities. With two bedrooms and one-point-five bathrooms, it had probably been standing for the past hundred years at least.

The most modern addition was the surveillance system that Yara had somehow managed to have rigged up around the absolute fossil of a property. Even she was skeptical about how much good it would do, but installing it had brought her some peace of mind if nothing else.

“At least that bastard of yours is good for something,” she said grudgingly, craning her neck to examine the small camera hidden above the front door. “No one from around here is going to try anything on someone with Bolton protection.”

Theon didn’t comment.

His sister had not been happy about his relocation to the North by any means, but to her eyes Theon was doing well. Though Yara could be described as protective, it was also never in her nature to coddle. If Theon said he was fine, and his doctors said he was fine, then she wasn’t going to disrespect or discourage what little autonomy he had claimed. Her lack of love or trust for the North aside.

“You’ll call me every week,” she said, checking over the contents of his new pantry. “Just to let me know you’re alive.”

“Okay.”

Yara kept looking around the apartment as if searching for something that would help her feel better about the situation.

“You know that you’ll never be as safe here as you were in the islands.”

“I know.”

“The sick fuck who did this to you is still out there.”

“Yeah.” Theon rubbed at his scarred finger. “They’re never going to find him. I’ve… I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Well I sure as hell haven’t!” Yara snapped. “Fucking worthless. These mainlanders call us savages but we keep our fucking home in order. And if we want someone dead we kill them _dead_ , we don’t- we don’t _take them apart_ or-“

Theon wordlessly rest his hand on her wrist. She gave an unsteady sigh before shaking her head to clear it.

“Bloody hypocrites, the lot of them,” she muttered before pulling him into a brief but fierce embrace. “Don’t be an idiot, Theon. Be safe. And if anything feels off, or you feel yourself slipping, don’t you dare try being a proud cunt. You call me and you let me come help you.”

He hugged her tighter in lieu of a verbal response. He couldn’t bear to lie.

* * *

Yara left sometime after lunch, catching a train back to White Harbor where her ship and crew were loyally waiting for her. Without him to hold her down she was constantly traveling again, especially now that she’d secured the Targaryen contract. Theon did his best to be happy for her. His own notions of being a captain someday had long since passed.

For a long time Theon just sat in his new home, suddenly feeling lost. Ever since his rescue he’d been living in a constant state of “recovery”, moving from one benchmark to the next with the pipe dream of pantomiming “normalcy” waiting for him at the end. Years of struggling through every day just to get back to some semblance of where he’d once been.

Now he was out of inpatient care. He had his own place. He even had a job lined up now that his online program was done and his Library Support Staff certification was in the post. He had a committed relationship. On the surface, he had made it.

The fact that it was all a farce thoroughly soured the victory. He hadn’t escaped and he hadn’t gotten better. Just better at faking, which he’d always been pretty good at to start with. If Theon had really recovered, he’d have reported Ramsay to the police and been happy to do so, threats be damned. As it was, he sat uncomfortably in his living room breathing in the smell of the cold Northern sea. Waiting.

It was familiar, waiting in a quiet room for Ramsay to come for him. Maybe Theon had never stopped.

He must have stayed like that for hours, not even bothering to get up as the sunlight faded and the house grew dark. It wasn’t until the roll of headlights passed through the shadows that his attention suddenly sparked. He was on his feet, flipping the light switch and pulling the door open before Ramsay had even finished climbing the front step.

Ramsay brushed past him and across the threshold like he owned it and Theon was the guest.

“This is cute,” he said, voice light and faintly mocking as he assessed the space. "Bloody freezing though. Figures you don't know how to put a fire on."

Theon fidgeted nervously. “It's not much. My sister set me up with the essentials. I might turn the second bedroom into a reading room. Or a guest bed. It’s a little overwhelming to think about.”

“Why would you need a guest room?” Ramsay asked as he casually nosed through the kitchen cupboards. “Planning on having people overnight?”

The question was offhand but still threatening.

“My sister?” Theon blurted uncertainly. “And I have… other family too…”

Ramsay cast him a sidelong look. “Hm.”

Theon didn’t know what the concern was. It wasn’t like he had any friends in the North. He had replied to Robb’s letter, but only to communicate a jumble of thanks and apologies. Even if the day came that he was no longer too ashamed to face Robb Stark in person, it was certainly not safe to do so anymore.

“Alright then.” Ramsay held out his hand. “Key.”

Theon bit his lip before fishing the spare key from his pocket and placing it in the outstretched palm.

“Good. And you can go ahead and send me the access to that little security system you’ve put up as well. It’ll be good to keep an eye on you. My boy knows how I worry.”

Theon nodded, eyes trained on his shoes. “Of course.”

Something inside him was banging on the walls of his mind. _No no no no!_ But then Ramsay cupped his face and the voice went silent.

“I can always tell when you’re thinking too much. It’s really not good for you.” He stroked Theon’s cheek with his thumb. “Relax. I’m here to take care of you now.”

The words should have been the opposite of reassuring, but he felt his shoulders ease of their own volition. His master was touching him, and he smelled nice, and Theon’s body reacted automatically.

Ramsay was wearing a casual sport coat with black denim trousers, a nice watch clasped around his wrist. Theon hadn’t really known what to expect for their first proper date in months, but was relieved to infer that the outing wouldn’t be too upscale.

“You didn’t say where we were going,” Theon said, holding back a shiver as Ramsay’s hand drifted down to his neck. “Should I… should I change or…?”

He was wearing the same leather hoodie, worn jeans and scuffed boots that he’d left the facility in.

“You’re alright,” Ramsay said, pale eyes looking him over. “That is, assuming you’ve been good for me?”

Theon suddenly wanted to pull up his hood and hide himeself away. He could barely look at the other man before nodding. The red silk and lace garters were soft on his skin, but the secret shame of wearing them still made his insides squirm uncomfortably. Worst of all was the fact that the lingerie was lacking a front panel, leaving his scar fully exposed once his trousers were removed.

Ramsay’s grin was borderline feral. “And? How do you like it?”

Theon fixed him with a look that was both pleading and unamused. He knew Ramsay only wanted one answer.

“I… I like it very much,” he said miserably. “Thank you for the gift.”

Ramsay wasn’t put off by the blatant insincerity. If anything he looked amused and delighted.

“Well since you like it so much, I’m sure you’ll _love_ what else I’ve got for you.” He pulled a flat velvet box from his coat’s inner pocket.

Theon frowned. “Jewelry?”

“Of a kind.”

With a light sigh Theon lifted the lid. His breath caught instantly.

He had been made to wear a collar in the basement. It had been a thick, heavy, ugly thing meant for massive hounds. Ramsay’s ‘gift’ was lighter and soft to touch; the black and red leather formed an ornate interlocking pattern, converging on a distinctive “X” at the center, just above the golden lead ring.

“I know what you’re thinking. But it’s really for _you_. I only want to make sure there are no misunderstandings. At the places I’ll take you, the men might think that you’re there as Theon _Greyjoy_ and get nervous, you see?” Ramsay pulled the collar from its case and unlocked the buckle. “This way everyone will see you and know that you’re _mine_. You know how important that is to me.”

“You want me to wear this in public?” Theon asked faintly, eyes wide in disbelief.

With the right confidence and accompanying style it wasn’t inconceivable that such a thing could be worn in public as a choker or some kind of fashion statement… but he didn’t have either of those things.

“I also don’t want you to forget where you belong. Who you belong to,” Ramsay continued. “It’s all very overwhelming I’m sure, you being out in the world. We can’t have you getting any nasty ideas.”

Theon could only stand and tremble as Ramsay locked the collar around his neck. It sat on his throat a notch too small, the discomfort a constant reminder of its presence. The familiar pressure unlocked long-buried memories of being collared and chained in the dark, on his knees, kissing and licking his master’s boots.

“Wonderful. I knew it’d suit you.” Ramsay tilted his chin up with a single finger. “Now say thank you and give daddy a kiss.”

Theon only knew how to obey.

* * *

Given that the Bolton house was a mere drive up the river, Ramsay had a thorough knowledge of everything in the area. On the way to dinner he pointed out various sites and shops, noting the better restaurants or which owners had ties to his father. They ate at a small pizza joint that was definitely a mob front but had breadsticks so good it was easy not to think about it. All throughout the meal Theon was hyperaware of the weight around his throat. He avoided the eyes of everyone around him, certain that they were all noting him as some kind of sexual degenerate.

After dinner Ramsay took him through the nice side of town, right along where the Weeping Water met the sea. Eventually they came to a sizable but unmarked building off the pier. Although the outside was nondescript, the inside revealed it to be some kind of gambling hall. The decor was of the rustic, but classy look that the North seemed to like so much. The floors were glossy redwood paneling and cobblestone fireplaces crackled in the walls. Rows of billiard and poker tables entertained all manner of men while women in short skirts and long heels dealt cards or served drinks.

Theon instinctively shrank against Ramsay’s side, shrinking beneath the scrutiny of so many strangers.

“You don’t need to talk to anyone.” It sounded more like an order than permission. “You’re not here as Theon Greyjoy, remember? You’re here to sit and look pretty.”

“You think I’m still pretty?” Theon deadpanned.

“In a twitchy asylum patient type of way, sure.”

“Wow.”

“Hey, I’m sure porn of it exists. It’s a niche, Theon.”

Theon was quite positive that he didn’t want to know what ‘niches’, tags or sites Ramsay frequented. He knew how deep the other man’s depravities went.

“Did you ever post anything of me?” He heard himself ask.

“Hm?”

“On… I don’t know, the dark web or some shit. Did you ever?”

Ramsay’s grip on his waist briefly tightened. “Just the early stuff.”

Theon nearly tripped and fell flat on his face. “The- what does that mean!?”

“It means what I said. I didn’t… after a while I didn’t like the idea of sharing you. And you were blindfolded the whole time, no one out there has your face.”

“Oh, well _thank_ you!” Theon hissed. “Do they have pictures of my cock? Before you took it, maybe?”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure every other girl in the North had a picture of your cock by the time I got to it,” Ramsay said shortly.

“What about your boys? Did you show them little videos and all have a great laugh together?” Theon muttered angrily as they passed through the length of the hall. “Is that why they look at me like I’m a piece of meat?”

“They look at you like they’d give their left bollock to have what I’ve got,” Ramsay replied coolly. “Watch your tone.”

“What you’ve got? Do you mean a boyfriend, a pet or a slave?”

“An insolent little boy is what I have at the moment. I expected better from you.”

Theon hated himself for feeling stung by the rebuke, guilt bubbling in his gut. Distantly he realized that it was a special kind of insane to be bickering as if it were nothing more than a petty argument - he should have been kicking and screaming and finally calling someone for help, but now master was _disappointed_ and Theon was so fucked in the head that it silenced him totally. He sullenly let Ramsay lead him to a secluded table without any more fuss.

The men there weren’t the usual brutes that Ramsay called friends. They had better clothes, less callouses and cleaner diction. It was easy enough to assume that they were some sort of business associates of the Bolton family. Clearly the men here were wealthy, probably without ever having to work for it a day in their lives. Not like Theon, who had always scrabbled for his father’s scraps. Not even like Ramsay, who was born without any legal entitlements to his family estate. Privileged white collar criminals who had never gotten their own hands dirty.

None of them bothered introducing themselves to Theon as the cards were dealt, though their eyes moved over him with more interest than would be afforded a common escort. They knew who he was and they knew that he wasn’t worth speaking to as an equal at the table. Which of course he wasn’t - he wasn’t sat here as Theon Greyjoy, but as an accessory of Ramsay Bolton. The expensive pet to a dangerous man, for everyone to see and wonder at how the infamous bastard had leashed a kraken to his side.

Somehow despite being the ‘lowly thug’ at the table, Ramsay was peacocking. Embracing the truth of his roots instead of hiding them; he didn't play at being a gangster by riding on his father's name like the rest. House Bolton: _our knives are sharp and our balls are bigger than yours._ And it seemed to be working. Though the men tried to brush it off, they looked distinctly unsettled.

"Why don't you get me a drink, dear," Ramsay said as he was dealt in.

"Oh, uh-" Theon looked around for a waitress to flag.

"Don't be lazy. The bar's right there."

"... Sure."

So Ramsay wanted to lay it on thick that Theon was his bitch. Fine. He stood up to leave. As he turned from the table it was _almost_ not a surprise to feel the sharp swat to his ass.

"You can get yourself a water."

Theon kept his glare to himself as he headed for the bar. He understood the game here, and for once he was a board piece and not the victim. He knew better than anyone how good Ramsay was at playing with people's minds; the minds of arrogant, sheltered, old money punks most of all.

By the time Theon returned with the drinks the game was well underway. Ramsay had this manner of being totally genial and polite, but downright disquieting in a powerful, unnamable way. It was in the cold fire of his eyes and in the cruel pleasure of his smile. Theon watched fascinated as the group tried to bolster their bravado, to laugh along with jokes and not flinch away when the man leaned to close to them. Without even trying Ramsay had them all spooked and fumbling their cards.

He cleaned them out by the end of the night.

* * *

It probably said something that it wasn’t the worst date Theon had ever been on.

Ramsay was in a good mood when they left the gambling hall. It was palpable on the drive back but that didn’t necessarily mean Theon was safe. They pulled into the driveway before the homely seaside cottage.

“You talked back to me this evening,” Ramsay said pleasantly.

“… Yes, sir.”

“I’m glad you behaved yourself for the most part, but this was our first night together after all those months of waiting. I wanted to show you off to the world and you had to tarnish it by picking fights with me.”

Theon kept his eyes low, hands clasped ruefully in his lap. “How are you going to punish me?”

“No more than you deserve. Get in the house.”

Chills ran up and down his spine as he fumbled his keys and eventually stumbled his way into the front room. Ramsay was at his back, shutting the door with finality before herding him into the bedroom.

“Strip. I want everything off but your collar and skivvies.” Although Ramsay was somewhat trying to play the part of the scolding disciplinarian, the excitement and happiness in his voice was unmistakeable.

Theon complied with unsteady fingers, shedding his clothing one by one in a neat pile. He trembled when it came time to divest his trousers. The cool air hit his bare skin, leaving him mortified and exposed.

“Well aren’t you a pretty picture,” Ramsay mused, eyes raking over him. “They’re meant for women, you know. But I figured they would fit.”

Theon had his arms folded across his chest, shoulders hunched inward.

“Aw, don’t be sad. You know you’re perfect to me.” He rubbed the tears from Theon’s eyes before they could fall. “I’m not angry, just disappointed. You forgot your place tonight. Do you need daddy to remind you, baby? Does he need to go slower for his wayward boy?”

He said the words with mocking enunciation. Meanwhile a shudder worked its way down Theon’s spine.

“Bend over the bed.”

Theon obeyed, glad at least to have identified a familiar torment. Beltings were a staple punishment - quick to deliver and easily hidden. The marks from his last dose had taken weeks to heal, but the fact that they healed at all was more than could be said for his other scars. He bit his tongue as warm hands ran up his thighs, thumbs teasing at the hem of his lingerie. The panties were hiked up the valley of his arse, exposing his cheeks completely. Then the source of heat moved away, and the sound of Ramsay unclasping his belt was loud in the silence. Theon was pretty sure the other man only even wore belts for this purpose, and that they were always of the heaviest and cruelest leather he could find.

The folded length of the belt entered his vision. “Go on. Show me that you accept your need to be punished.”

With a soft sigh Theon reluctantly leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the instrument of his imminent suffering.

“Please punish me, sir. I deserve it.”

The first strike was like a thunderclap in the night. The shock of impact caused the air to catch in Theon’s throat, stifling his cry. He barely managed to cough against the restriction of his collar before the next blow hit. The air rippled with the sound of each swat and Theon buried his damp face into the fur of the shadowcat bedding. He knew without looking that his skin would be shifting from pink to red to purple soon enough. Ramsay never did anything by halves.

“You understand why I’m doing this?” He asked.

“Yes, I- _oh, fuck!_ ” Theon gasped as he felt the belt’s kiss low on the swell of his arse, right on the sit spot where cheeks met thighs.

“Curse at me and I’ll wash your mouth out,” Ramsay said, the whipping not once faltering in its rhythm. “It’s really too bad that I have to discipline you like a child. Maybe that’s all you really are - your father never hugged you enough, so you never fucking grew up inside.”

Theon was close to sobbing, squirming beneath the onslaught with fists tangled in the furs. Pain was a familiar torment, but it had been a while since he had been dealt such a heady dose of humiliation and indignity. He knew how to be Ramsay’s dog and he knew how to be his prisoner, but the patronizing sweetness and deliberate invocation of his childhood were messing with him in a new way.

It was a new game that had swiftly pitched him out of his already tentative and troubled comfort zone.

“I’m sorry!” He blubbered, wincing as he was strapped straight across his thighs. “I was insolent. I was bad, I’m _sorry_ -“

“Look at you. You can’t even take your licking like a man. Of course, you’re _not_ a man, are you? Just a scared, weak little boy who plays pretend,” Ramsay said in faux sympathy, forcing Theon’s feet apart so his legs were wider spread. “You’re so obvious. Fucking desperate for someone, anyone to care enough to step in and be the firm hand you need.”

The pain in Theon’s arse and thighs had surpassed a harsh sting to become a muscle-deep burn. The fire in his skin built and built, radiating heat in waves. He was certain that if someone were to look at his ass through a thermal camera it’d be like staring into the sun.

“Perhaps I’m just wasting my time,” Ramsay said with a sigh. “Maybe I shouldn’t even bother disciplining you. _Maybe_ you’re just hopeless.”

“No! No, I-” Theon choked as the belt fell over pre-existing welts. “Don’t give up on me. I’m grateful.”

“Then what do you say?”

“T-thank you. Thank you for taking the time to punish me…” His insides twisted and writhed with shame. “… daddy.”

There was a heavy pause. Theon could clearly see in his mind’s eye the way Ramsay’s pupils must have expanded, expression open in hunger.

The final strike nicked his bollocks, causing his whole world to go white. Theon pitched forward, barely stopping himself mid-heave from emptying his dinner onto the bedspread. As he wheezed and spluttered for air, Ramsay was pressing against him from behind, large hand groping at the quickly forming welt on Theon’s purse.

“Aw, poor baby,” Ramsay snickered with a squeeze. “Have I been neglecting you here? Does my boy miss having his fat knockers played with?”

Theon groaned low and distressed in his throat, muscles rigid as his abused balls were kneaded and pulled.

“Maybe next time,” Ramsay whispered in his ear before finally releasing him. “Oh, quit sniveling. I didn’t let you keep those for _you._ They’re for _me_ , and if I want to put your precious love sack through a wringer, I will.”

There was a brief pause, followed by the synthetic shutter sound of a phone camera. Theon tensed.

“What was that?”

“All your fussing about photos reminded me that I don’t have any recent pictures of you,” Ramsay said sweetly. “I find that a shame.”

Theon shuddered. He could only imagine how he looked, bent over in silk and lace, arse beaten purple and red like a plum. He couldn’t stomach thinking about what the other man would do with pictures like that. Post them? Pass them around to his boys?

“Ramsay please don-“ A broad hand struck down on his swollen flesh, forcing him to gag on his words.

“Do I have to re-train you? Apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” Theon wept. “Daddy I really- I don’t want any pictures-“

“This isn’t about what you want.” On cue the shutter sounded once again. “Turn over.”

Relieved at least that the beating was done, Theon rolled onto his back with a groan. The press of the bed against his punished skin was not kind. His whole body was flushed and trembling as he looked up with bleary eyes. Ramsay was holding his phone, a mean grin on his face as he spread Theon’s legs apart once more. The belt lay discarded on the floor.

“I knew these would suit you,” he said, taking a photo of Theon’s exposed scar in the crotchless lingerie. “I should get you more.”

Theon knew better than to protest, though his expression hid none of his misery at the prospect.

“There he is with the kicked dog look again. At the camera, sweetheart.”

There was another shutter before Ramsay set the phone aside. He hooked a finger into the lead ring of the collar, pulling Theon up for a kiss that probably tasted of salt and tears. Almost instantly, Theon’s body began to relax. He liked kissing Ramsay. Kissing usually meant that the punishment was done, that it was time for softer, sweeter touches. At the sound of the lube cap popping open his legs were instinctively spreading. His body was pliant was he was nudged further onto the bed, positioned on hands and knees.

“You’re so sweet for me,” Ramsay said, snapping one of Theon’s garters before sliding the creased panties down to mid-thigh. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Theon’s breaths were short and labored. The ache of preparation was absorbed by the greater pain radiating from his backside, turning everything into a shapeless haze of hurt. “Of course.”

“You’ve always been my good boy. Just a slow learner.”

Theon buried his face in the pillows as Ramsay slid into his body. The feeling of being filled consumed his mind, forcing the whole world to fall away. He didn’t like to think about how it had been Before, with the Old Theon, when fucking had been a purely impersonal pursuit of pleasure. It was different now. Being fucked was such an intimate and vulnerable experience. Or maybe that’s just how it was with Ramsay, who always left him feeling so raw and shaken.

For all his honeyed words Ramsay’s own excitement was apparent in his animalistic pace, rutting eagerly into Theon’s body with hands viciously anchored to thin hips. It felt like being consumed, which was exactly what Theon needed in the aftermath of being punished. Every time he was taken apart he needed Ramsay to piece him back together again. He needed to disappear, to feel Ramsay’s heat and muscle at his back, making him small and walling him away from the rest of the world.

Theon was still not a masochist but the mix of pain and pleasure still got him high, endorphins rushing with each thrust to his prostate and every slap or grope to his bruised skin. His scar was buzzing and wet with pleasure, fear and lust going straight to his head.

“Tell me what you need,” Ramsay asked, voice rough.

“Nng… need to come,” Theon said weakly into the pillow. “Let me finish, daddy…”

Ramsay growled, burying his face into the crook of Theon’s shoulder. “Go on then. You have my permission.”

Theon cried out as teeth sank into the tender junction of his neck. His back arched as his orgasm tore through him, stars swarming his vision. His body tightened around Ramsay’s girth, and a few hard thrusts later the other man was following him over the edge.

They lay still a while longer, sweat cooling on their skin. Theon’s breaths were shallow, sandwiched between the mattress and his boyfriend’s full weight. He wouldn’t have pegged Ramsay for a cuddler, but it wasn’t uncommon to find himself pinned to the man’s side or, as in the current case, flattened entirely beneath him.

Ramsay’s body shook with a contented sigh. He kissed Theon behind one ear. “Say it for me, pet.”

“I love you, master.” Theon mumbled, sleep creeping in through the corners of his vision. “Forever and always.”


	2. Midsummer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got no excuses. Take my 12k apology.

A storm rolled in that weekend.

The tide was nothing impressive on the Northeastern coast, but as the wind picked up the usually lazy waves were suddenly churning with vigor. Theon watched the darkening skies with trepidation. He had weathered worse storms before in the islands of course, where the rain and thunder seemed to hammer and shake the towers of his uncles ancient home right to the foundations. Yet in recent years those nights had proved to be some of his worst.

Storms in the North were usually of the freezing wind and sleet variety. Thunder was rare except for in summer, and even then a year could easily go by without it.

At least Theon’s luck was consistent.

“Why does your bed always smell like a Highgarden candle?”

Theon wasn’t listening, eyes on the overcast sky outside as he tried to calculate how long they would take to disperse. “… Sorry, what?”

“Pay attention, will you? It’s just a bit of rain,” Ramsay said, arms wrapped around him from behind. “About time, if you ask me. It’s been way too fucking hot these days.”

Theon wanted to ask if Ramsay had ever been outside the North in his life. The summer days might have been clear and sunny, but there was no escaping the constant regional chill. Even in summer the far North was cool, especially by the water. However Theon held his tongue for fear that Ramsay might take it as mockery.

“I don’t like storms,” he mumbled, hissing in pain as Ramsay’s wandering hands began to squeeze and toy with his swollen flesh.

Bruising got worse before it got better, and the red of Theon’s belted skin had darkened to lurid violet and dark purple overnight. They had woken late that Saturday morning, entwined and tumbled together on the queen-size bed.

Ramsay snorted into the curve of his shoulder. “Seriously? Doesn’t it rain all year where you’re from?”

Theon didn’t know how to explain without sounding childish.

“Storms are different. They’re sent by the Storm God to do evil.”

His mother’s stories always came back to Theon on turbulent nights. The air was the dark god’s breath, the lightning his arrows, and the whirling grey sky above was his body. He targeted the ships of the Drowned God’s men but was not above spiriting away anyone else who caught his eye. People and even whole vehicles were known to go missing on stormy nights, swept right into the rising sea by vicious winds if they strayed too close to the coast.

Ramsay’s chest shuddered with laughter. “You believe in nursery rhymes now?”

“People die every year to the storms,” Theon protested, watching rain splatter the bedroom window. “They always have.”

Before the abduction Theon hadn’t been especially religious. He’d claimed to be as a way of feeling closer to his culture, but hadn’t really carried the faith. Back in the cellar he’d desperately prayed to the Old Gods, swallowed by the forest as he was with the sea so far away. He still held a shameful place for them in his heart, but coming home to the water had been transformative.

If there was one single thing that the Ironborn would not judge a man for, it was faith and love for the sea. So Theon had submerged himself into it, clung to it for purchase. Better to be at the mercy of nature than man.

“A lot of days it felt like my soul was all I had,” Theon said quietly. “Not my body, or my mind. Not even my name.”

His soul was the one thing that no steel blades could touch. He could still give it to the Drowned God someday, if the Storm didn’t devour it first.

Ramsay hummed, a thoughtful sound that made Theon’s stomach clench in worry. He didn’t want Ramsay to ever think deeply on anything he said.

“That’s interesting,” Ramsay finally said, extracting himself from the bed. “Up. I don’t suppose you have real food in this place?”

“Not much,” Theon admitted. “I’m not meant to use the stove. And I don’t know how to cook anyway.”

“We’ll see that you learn eventually. In the meanwhile I guess we’re going out for breakfast.”

Ramsay began to hunt for clothes, playfully flicking the discarded panties into Theon’s chest.

“These were fun after all. I’ll get more.”

Theon grimaced, aware of the wrinkled stockings that had rolled down to his knees in the night. “I’m not doing that again.”

Ramsay paused. “Excuse me?”

“I- I mean,” Theon swallowed. “I don’t want to. I just. It makes me feel bad.”

“Bad? The gift I put thought and money into makes you feel bad?” Ramsay asked. “Me being happy makes you feel bad?”

“No! No, no-“

“Because if that’s the case, maybe I should just leave by myself. Leave you alone to eat whatever fucking wheaties your sister thinks are safe enough for you,” Ramsay said coldly. “Does being with me make you feel _bad_ , Theon?”

Theon choked on air, only able to frantically shake his head. Did Ramsay make him feel bad? Sometimes. Often. But Ramsay was also his fixed point. Theon had only survived this long by clinging to the desperate hope that his tormentor cared for him, could love him, and the idea of that snuffing out suddenly filled him with unspeakable fear.

“I didn’t mean that. I just- after-“ Theon glanced tearfully between his legs, thighs twitching and clenched together shamefully. “I’m still a man. I am.”

Ramsay clicked his tongue before climbing back onto the bed.

“Darling,” he said, brushing their noses together. “You weren’t a man even _before_ I took your cock. You’re my pet, and if I want to dress you in pretty things, that’s my right and you ought to be grateful for it. Yes or no?”

Theon swallowed, unsteady eyes meeting Ramsay’s own. “… Yes.”

“Good boy.” Ramsay patted his cheek. “Now stop whinging and get up.”

* * *

_Why did you come back for me?_

Theon found himself hopelessly ruminating as he looked at Ramsay from across the diner table. Rain continued to fall outside, streaking the large glass windows.

“You’re giving me those puppy eyes again,” Ramsay said, not looking up from the menu.

Theon immediately diverted his gaze down to his own. The pictures swam before his eyes without reason, the words passing in and out of his mind without retention. He wasn’t hungry. The eye-watering pain of sitting in the diner booth had killed his already feeble appetite.

“You’ll be alright. You’re my resilient boy.” Ramsay winked, taking note of his discomfort. “It makes daddy so hard to watch you tough it out.”

Theon was so disgustingly weak, really. A little affection and praise shouldn’t have been all it took to gain his devotion, especially when it came at the cost of his pain. But who was going to love him if not Ramsay? Who else was going to put up with his mess, his weakness? Who else was going to hold him tight and never, ever let him go even when he pulled or pushed them away?

“Why did you do it?”

“Hm? Punish you?”

“No. I mean…” Theon took a breath. “Why you took me.”

“Oh. Well because you were easy. And a cunt.” Ramsay smiled. “And no one would miss you.”

Theon shuddered. “And why didn’t you kill me?”

A laugh. “Now why the hell would I do that?”

Theon could think of a couple good reasons. Not the least of which was that leaving your victim alive was a liability, surely.

“You should have let me go.”

Ramsay put his menu aside. “Do you wish I had?”

It would have been easier. Healthier, better, to pine for a faceless monster from a distance. What life would he have led in that world? Endless days on Harlaw, making inch by inch of progress. His time in the cabin a raw nightmare, his torturer a shadowed devil from hell, all powerful and all knowing and still out there, somewhere. Theon’s therapists would continue to tell him that what his captor made him feel wasn’t love, and maybe someday he’d believe them. He could have lived and died a broken but sheltered thing, never knowing what was true.

“No,” Theon said finally. “But you should have anyway.”

“See, this is why you don’t tell me what I should do.” Ramsay gave a leisurely stretch, unconcerned. “Everything’s been better since I got you back. You just like finding reasons to feel sorry for yourself.”

It had gotten better for _Ramsay_ , certainly. He was a Bolton now. He had his favorite pet under his hold again. Whereas Theon… well. Things weren’t bad, were they? He was out of inpatient. He had a home by the sea and a job that suited him. And Ramsay loved him, had jeopardized everything to have Theon again, and didn’t hurt him anywhere close to before.

“It’s not healthy,” Theon said weakly. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

He didn’t mean it as a romantic statement but a damning one. He didn’t know how to live without someone holding his leash and alternating threats with affection on a whim. He didn’t know how to be a person, let alone Theon Greyjoy. He only knew how to be a cruel (merciful) man’s possession.

Everyone told him that he was supposed to be strong and brave and learn how to be his own man again… but recovery was hard where submission was easy. Especially when Ramsay was so much warmer than that cold, loveless room at Harlaw ever was.

Ramsay was looking at him with a pleased spark in his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around Theon’s frail wrist.

“You don’t have to. You’ll never live without me again.” His grip tightened. “And you wouldn’t make _me_ live without you, right?”

Theon could only wordlessly shake his head. He didn’t know what Ramsay meant. That Theon would never run? Never hurt himself again? Never make Ramsay kill him? It could have been anything.

The matter simmered between them until their food arrived. Immediately Theon felt his stomach flip in protest at the meal before him.

“I’m going to need a box.”

“No he won’t,” Ramsay said, putting up a hand to preemptively cut off the waitress. “Trust me, he’s going to eat it.”

Theon looked up with what must have been betrayal. Not this again, surely?

“I’ve decided to put you on a meal plan of my own,” Ramsay said, casually cutting into his sausage. “Don’t want anyone to think I’m taking poor care of you.”

Theon stared down into his plate. The waffle alone would be a millstone in his gut.

“You’ll eat three times a day. If I’m not there to see it, you’ll send me pictures. If I catch you trying to lie to me about what you’re eating…” Ramsay trailed off suggestively. “And I’ll approve your grocery lists.”

Theon didn’t look up, clammy hands gripping the table. He wanted to ask why but knew he’d only get another bogus answer about his health. Surely Ramsay wasn’t concerned about Theon’s weight. It had been by his hand that Theon had lost so much of it in the first place.

“Is this a new game?” He asked softly.

“You can think of it like that, if it helps.”

“You never let me eat before.”

“Now we both know that’s not true. I fed you when you earned it.” Ramsay’s foot brushed his under the table. “And you were very naughty back then, remember. You weren’t mine yet.”

Theon frowned, muddied memories of the dungeon flickering through his mind. He’d been so cold and hungry, and yet at the height of his “training” a full plate would send him cowering into the corner. Sometimes he would be left alone in his cell with that beautiful fragrant food for _hours_ , knowing that the instant he took a bite without permission, he’d lose its equivalent in blood.

It was hard to override. Even now with Ramsay telling him to eat, his body just… felt sick at the sight of food. He couldn’t help it, as the multitude of nutrition supplements he was still prescribed would attest.

“It’s getting cold.”

With a trembling hand Theon speared a bit of scrambled egg. It was soft and fluffy, jiggling at the end of his fork. He grimaced and forced it past his lips, swallowing it down with only the barest amount of chewing.

“Good. Now keep going.”

Theon’s stomach was already beginning to squirm in protest of what was to come, but he could never refuse an order. He also felt warmed, deep within that twisted place that his therapists had tried to make him cut away.

 _You weren’t mine yet,_ he’d said. Which meant Theon was Ramsay’s now. Of course he was. And that meant something, didn’t it? Something special? After all, Ramsay might have been cruel to his victims, but he was always good to his dogs.

* * *

They went out for groceries after and it became quickly very apparent that neither of them knew the first thing about cooking, let alone stocking a pantry. They wound up with a cart full of various soups and produce, eggs and multiple cuts of meat. The red meat specifically was for Ramsay, and Theon was instructed to learn how to decently prepare it.A lot of instructional videos were probably in his future.

“I’d probably have better luck with seafood,” Theon tentatively said.

He’d never cooked any by himself before, but via osmosis he had a general understanding of the do’s and don’t’s involved.

“I hate seafood. It’s always so…” Ramsay wrinkled his nose. “Fishy.”

“… Because it’s fish.”

“But it’s _fishy._ ”

To live right on the water and buy beef from the grocer felt like some type of Ironborn sin, but Theon had surely committed more than his share of those already.

The weather grew ever more grim as time went on. Rain fell with increasing ferocity, cascading down the cottage windows in sheets. Even with Ramsay getting the fire going, there was no escaping the chill for Theon’s mostly-bare skin.

“I’m very hurt and concerned by how embarrassed you are of my work,” Ramsay had said, tracing the landscape of scars on Theon’s body. “Where does this awful shyness come from? You used to be so vain too. I made you beautiful.”

“Ramsay…”

“Seems like someone’s getting big ideas about himself, hm? Gets his _feewings_ hurt because he doesn’t feel like a man?” Ramsay teased. “I think we have to revoke your clothing privileges whilst you’re at home. That’ll teach you to be comfortable in your skin, won’t it?”

Even with just the two of them there Theon couldn’t get comfortable. It must have been punishment for rejecting Ramsay’s gift and protesting the pictures he took the previous night. Theon belonged to Ramsay, his body was Ramsay’s property. He had to relearn that.

Cold and exposed, he curled against Ramsay’s side and listened to the rain hammering down on the cottage roof. He flinched with every roll of thunder overhead.

“It’s just a summer storm,” Ramsay said, hand squeezing Theon’s hip. “Easy.”

Lightning flashed through the drawn curtains. The sudden, deafening thunder that followed drew an honest squeak from Theon’s lips. He knew it was irrational, but he could no longer control who he became in the dark; Ramsay had stripped all the pretense and logic and strength away, leaving little more than a scared little boy behind. On nights like these it was the hardest to pretend otherwise.

Theon stopped being afraid of thunderstorms when he was eleven and living on the mainland. He resumed over a decade later, as if the years between had been peeled back along with his skin, regressing him into something small and fragile.

Lightning cracked again, this time taking the power with it. All light from the lamps and television immediately snuffed out. Only the blazing fire remained, the crackling of the hearth nearly drowned out by the roar of the Storm God outside.

For a long moment Theon was speechless. He was paralyzed in place with one hand gripping hard onto Ramsay’s knee. Then his breathing began to grow labored, air suddenly insufficient in filling his lungs.

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you do that.” Ramsay was pushing him down onto the couch before climbing atop his body, bracketing Theon in warmth and weight. “Look at me now.”

Theon’s wild eyes found Ramsay’s own cool gaze, shadowed but flashing in the firelight.

“I need you to listen to me, pet. There’s nothing this god can do to you that I can’t. What’s he done to deserve your fear?” Ramsay grasped him tighter when another roll of thunder left Theon shaking. “Your soul isn’t his to take, or yours to give. It’s _mine_. The only god that matters to you is _me_.”

With Theon already naked it was all too easy for Ramsay to begin rubbing insistently between his legs. He nipped and suckled at Theon’s throat, drawing hisses and groans. Theon squirmed into the worn leather of the couch, thighs spreading. Another calloused hand began to toy with the sensitive nub of his nipple, and every touch felt so warm in that chilled room.

The storm felt distant now. Though Theon could still hear it, it seemed to be raging behind some faraway veil. There was only Ramsay - touching him, kissing him, whispering dark promises.

“There’s no Drowned Hall for you,” Ramsay said lowly, breaths tracing the curve of Theon’s neck. “We’re going to die on the same day, you and me, and then I’m going to spend the rest of eternity fucking your ghost.”

Theon choked as sharp teeth buried into his shoulder. Ramsay lowered his boxers and positioned Theon’s thighs to hug his cock. The full length of his shaft rubbed along Theon’s stump, which was already slick from the attention.

“Now,” Ramsay pressed a kiss to his lips before bracing for leverage. “Pray to me.”

Thunder crashed, shaking the very walls of the cottage, but Theon barely heard it. It was all true - Ramsay was his savior, his destroyer, his god - and they were in the middle of worship.

* * *

By Monday morning the skies had cleared enough for Theon to safely bicycle his way to work.

Being a library clerk was the modest, quiet sort of role that Old Theon would never have considered. He had hazy memories of being read to by his mother, or curling up between the stacks at his uncle’s house… but after leaving the islands he’d never even picked up a book without being forced to, let alone set foot in a public library. In going through his mother’s things he’d found little brochures and notes that indicated she’d wanted to be a librarian, but that his father had put his foot down about her attending college once she was pregnant.

It made Theon feel closer to her, like he was in some way fulfilling her unfinished designs… even though he was no librarian. The role paid barely more than minimum wage, but if the only position he could get was one where his primary competition was high school students, then that was just the way things were. His therapist had encouraged him, saying it was good to establish a routine and build a sense of normalcy in his new life.

It was peaceful and slow paced work for the most part, though it was made quickly clear to him that the library was not strictly a place for smart people as he had always assumed. In fact, a lot of genuine weirdos seemed to congregate there.

Several times Theon had been asked to log someone into their personal email (how the hell was he supposed to know their password?), caught people removing barcode stickers thinking it would prevent the theft prevention from going off (it didn’t), or been forced to call the guard about folks bathing or jerking off in the bathroom (just… _why_ ).

And that was only the first week. Over the course of that time it had been difficult to stay in his chair, his arse and thighs still swollen up and stained an angry violet. His new colleagues occasionally caught Theon standing behind his computer, and all of them constantly assured him that it was okay to remain seated.

“You’re not a cashier, you won’t be scolded for it,” Alys had said, a kind but blunt girl whose titan of a boyfriend worked security. “Especially given your condition.”

His condition of missing several toes, having a badly healed broken leg and a formerly impaled foot. Right. There were still people who remembered what happened to him by name, but more common were those who had heard the story but didn’t know to link Theon to it.

The library had been pretty understanding about his disabilities and told him to let the volunteers or other staff worry about shuttling anything up the stairs. He spent most of his time at the front desk, checking in and out materials until the returns pile got high enough to justify a nearby re-shelving run.

Ramsay liked to pop in without warning, sometimes just for five minutes as he passed through on whatever errand he was running, sometimes staying for the whole lunch break. Today seemed to be one of those days.

“So how long are you going to be doing this?” Ramsay asked, casting a bored look around the space.

“I’m on shift until 5-“

“No, I mean when does it end. This.” Ramsay lazily waved around at the library lobby. “This fake job thing. How long until your therapist lets you out of it?”

“That… that’s not how - what?” Theon rubbed his neck, flustered. “It’s a real job. Not a great paying one, I guess, but I come in and I work and they pay me an hourly wage.”

Ramsay looked at him with what could only be described as vague disgust, brow raised and teeth slightly bared in a grimace.

“Oh. Oh I see.”

"I was thinking of, of getting further certification,” Theon said, foot tapping anxiously. “Working my way up to doing actual, uh, library science.”

“The fuck is a library science?” Ramsay asked, bewildered.

“It’s a potential career,” Theon insisted. “It’s the most direction I’ve had since… ever. Even before.”

Ramsay gave a heavy sigh, like Theon was being childish.

“A career? Sweetling we both know you’re not suited for a _career._ Not even ‘before’. I know you’ve got to play at all this-“ He pointedly flicked Theon’s name tag. “To make your therapist and your sister happy. But your place is at home. We both know you don’t do well in the world.”

“But- but I can do this work. It’s quiet and there’s prospects, and I don’t want my sister to pay my bills forever. I don’t want to call my life over before I’m even thirty.”

He could sense Ramsay getting annoyed and Theon’s heart rate doubled in response. He began to sweat and fuss, his boyfriend watching him writhe and wither under that flat, detached stare.

“Once your sister gets off your back, everything will be better. _I’ll_ take care of you, silly boy.”

“You?” Theon’s mouth was so, so dry.

“You said yourself that this fake job of yours doesn’t pay, and you don’t want to live your whole life with big sister paying the rent. Well fine, I’ve got more than enough to support you.”

Theon knew that Ramsay was getting some sort of certification as a Medical Assistant, though it never seemed to be something the man took especially seriously. Just something to fill time or appease Roose Bolton, like he didn’t actually intend on doing anything with the credentials. They both knew his real income flowed from elsewhere.

“Does this money happen to come from a trust fund?” Theon asked, hoping Ramsay would just lie for his benefit.

“Do I strike you as a pampered trust fund prick? I earn my way doing work for my father, you know that.” His gaze turned sly. “Would you like me to show you?”

“I…” Theon was starting to feel a little lightheaded. “I think I’ve already seen it.”

Ramsay purred, leaning over the counter to rub their foreheads together. “You were never work, sweetling. Never. Every moment I spent with you, it was out of love. It was the only place I wanted to be.”

Theon wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. Would it have comforted him to be just another job, and for Ramsay to break him for money instead of pleasure? Or was it better to know that none of this was planned, and that Ramsay hurt him, kept him and then saved him in defiance of his own self interests?

“Ramsay I think we um… ought to talk,” Theon said carefully. “I’m really not comfortable with you spending money on me.”

Ramsay leaned back slightly, brow tightening like he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d heard. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just. You don’t see how it might be unpleasant? Having you buy me all these things, knowing you make your money hurting people the way you hurt me?”

Immediately Ramsay’s shoulders loosened with a roll of his eyes. “I _told_ you, you were never like that. Those meatsacks are just business-”

Theon blinked, momentarily stunned.

“I am not _jealous_ of your other-! Are you insane?” He was beginning to feel a bit hysterical himself, struggling to keep his voice a mere heated whisper. “How can I accept your gifts knowing that someone bled for it? Can you not understand that I, who you tortured, feel sick profiting off of you torturing others?”

“What I can’t understand is how you’d be so damned ungrateful,” Ramsay said irritably. “I give you everything. I _gave_ you everything. And now you’re telling me I’m not good enough because I don’t make my money bagging groceries or some shit? Seriously?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Theon said frantically, sensing great danger. “I love you. I _am_ grateful, it’s just that I feel guilty okay? Because I know how it feels to be on your rack and now I’m getting all these things from other people being put in my place and… and I’m ashamed.”

“They’re not in your place. You don’t even know who any of those vermin are. They’re nothing, understand? They’re meat.” Ramsay ran a finger along Theon’s jaw. “You said that you’re mine. Are you?”

Theon looked at him, defeated. “It’s all that I am.”

“That’s right. We belong to each other, understand? No one knows me like you do, no one’s experienced me like you have and lived,” Ramsay said gently. “And no one could love _you_ like I do, could they?”

“… no sir.”

“They all look at you and see a broken mess that needs to be fixed. They want you to be something you’re not, so they don’t have to bother with taking care of you. But not me. I’ll always take care of you, I’ll always accept you just the way you are.”

“I know. I’m grateful, I am-“

“Are you? I don’t ask much in return. It’s for your own good, to be obedient and trust that I know best.”

“Of course.”

“And you want to take care of me too, don’t you? You want to be there for me?”

“Y-yes! Always!” Theon insisted, hands trembling.

“So why don’t you take a break from playing pretend,” Ramsay said gently. “And show me what your _real_ job is.”

He pulled away, taking his heat with him, to disappear between the stacks. Theon watched him go, feeling a cold emptiness in his chest. He felt an eerie disconnect from his body. Ramsay had the tendency to do that, to cut his anchor and leave Theon unmoored to drift. Forced to paddle his way back to the other man for port.

He fumbled the “Be Back Soon” sign before placing it on the desk and making his pursuit.

Ramsay was waiting for him in a far-off corner of the library, where the dusty encyclopedias and dictionaries were kept. He beckoned Theon closer with a crook of his finger before pointing to the floor. They were in the least popular section of the building, but even so this was a public space. Theon’s _workplace._

He didn’t have a choice, he couldn’t let Ramsay walk away angry after Theon was so ungrateful and rude. He dropped to his knees on the thin carpet and fumbled mindlessly with Ramsay’s belt. His head was vacant of all coherent or rational thought. It was as if he’d suddenly been reduced to his base code: _make daddy happy and everything will be alright_.

Ramsay was already getting hard. Theon gave his thick cock a stroke before taking it into his mouth eagerly, consumed by the singular purpose of his master’s pleasure. He then pulled back to lap at the precum, tonguing at the slit before swallowing the length down. Ramsay hissed above him, the hand in his hair yanking on his scalp. Theon gave a muffled groan, his lips embracing Ramsay’s length and working him over with increasingly desperate fervor.

Ramsay rocked himself in and out of Theon’s throat, grip steady and uncompromising. When seed finally flooded his mouth it was without warning. Theon gagged, hands tightly gripping the strong thighs before him as he struggled to swallow it all down. Ramsay leaned against the back of the shelf, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“That was good.” His fingers momentarily tightened in Theon’s hair. “Have you been practicing?”

Theon looked up at him, eyes fogged over and still trickling tears. “W… was I supposed to?”

Ramsay snorted. “You’re out of it. And disgusting. You look like a whole horde of men have had their wicked way with you.”

“Nn. No, sir,” Theon said groggily. “Just you.”

A bop on his nose. “Sweet boy.”

“D… don’t be mad at me,” Theon said groggily, cheek resting against Ramsay’s thigh. He felt a little delirious, lungs winded and energy wrung. “It all just… still hurts sometimes. You hurt me real bad.”

Ramsay sighed contentedly, petting a hand through Theon’s hair.

“I know, baby. But I’m going to take care of you too, just like I said. Don’t you worry.”

* * *

Even after Ramsay left, it was hard to return to work. Time passed in a haze, dreamlike. Theon went through the motions, doing his job but also having little recollection of how he spent his time. Library patrons came and went in a blur.

He was finally roused from his thoughts by a book and a few DVDs being set on the desk.

“Uh… hi.”

Theon’s hand froze mid-reach. He knew that voice. With a dry swallow he slowly pivoted his chair from the computer screen.

Robb looked good. He had looked good at the wedding too, over half a year ago, though Theon had been pretty dead set on dodging him at the time. Robb was wearing a blue crewneck sweater and faded jeans, his auburn hair perfectly mussed by the summer winds outside. Apparently the storm had blown its load over the weekend, leaving skies bright and clear.

“… This branch is a little out of your way,” were the only words Theon could think of.

“Ha, yeah. A bit.” Robb shifted, actually looking sheepish. “I heard you were working here now.”

“It’s only been a week,” Theon said, still in shock. “Starks must really know everyone.”

“Word travels fast, is all. I hope I’m not intruding. I mean, you made it pretty clear that you weren’t - that you didn’t want to see me,” Robb said, rubbing at his arm in nervous tic, just like he would when they were kids. “But I heard you were out of inpatient and I…”

“It’s fine,” Theon said, having trouble keeping his gaze. “I’m happy to see you. Really. I just… I wasn’t sure how to…”

“Yeah. I get it.”

Talking to Robb used to be the easiest thing in the world. He used to be the _only_ person in the world Theon could talk to at all.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to see you,” Theon said, staring into his lap. “I did. I’ve wanted to apologize for a long time, but. After everything, I didn’t want you to forgive me out of pity.”

“I don’t pity you.”

Theon fixed him with a skeptical look.

“I don’t! I was worried. I’ve been so worried.” Robb’s eyes were bright and so, so blue. “You made a mistake. I was angry but I never even considered cutting you out forever. And I never expected that… that all those things would be the last words we said to each other.”

Theon was coming dangerously close to crying on the job. “Oh.”

“Whatever way you fucked up, and however mad I was, I never wanted anything to happen to you. You never deserved any of that.” Robb’s expression became pained as he looked over the missing spaces of Theon’s fingers. “You know that, don’t you?”

“… Yeah,” Theon lied. “Of course.”

Robb looked at him exactly like he always did when he sniffed out dishonesty. Suspicious but uncertain. It had always been that way: Robb occasionally spotting the ripples disturbing Theon’s troubled mind, but having little idea of the horrors that lived in its depths.

“How have you been?” Theon glanced down at the DVD’s on the desk. “You’re a romcom guy now?”

Robb laughed. “Ah, well, kinda. My girlfriend likes them.”

“And she’s morally opposed to streaming?”

“I’ve been told there’s a certain romance to a physical film.”

“You’d know better than me.”

“Maybe. I don’t suppose Ramsay Snow likes romance flicks,” Robb said, just a shade too pointed to be offhand.

“Bolton,” Theon corrected automatically. “We watch nature shows sometimes, but he’s not a big movie guy in general. Not a fan of sitting still too long.”

“And he’s good to you? I know I’ve probably meddled enough - just tell me he is and I’ll take your word for it.”

It wasn’t a question that could earn a yes or no answer. Theon smiled weakly.

“Ramsay takes care of me. I appreciate your concern, really. And I can’t speak on what his family does anymore than I can on what _my_ family’s always done. But he loves me.”

Even if Ramsay had never said so, he had to, right? Why else would he go through all this trouble and take such massive risk, just to have Theon again.

Robb’s shoulders fractionally relaxed even though his brow was still troubled. “And you’re happy?”

Happy. Theon wasn’t sure how to quantify that word. He wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ been happy. Not as a child at Pyke, not with the Starks, not when he was cloistered away in Harlaw. Being with Ramsay was probably some form of self harm.

“Some days are harder than others,” he said finally. “But I think I’m doing alright.”

Robb nodded slowly. “Alright. Wow. I mean, I’m glad! Really. He just… doesn’t seem like your type, to say the least. I didn’t even know you liked guys.”

“I didn’t either.”

Theon had been repressed in more ways than one before the Incident, but being mentally screwed up from prolonged captivity to the point of begging for his torturer’s cock had a way of shedding a man’s inhibitions.

“And he’s, you know.” Robb made a vague hand motion. “A Snow and all. Or he was. Given how you and Jon never got along…”

“Yeah. I bet he thought it was funny, how that happened.”

“Actually Jon’s been worried about you too. He said that you weren’t in great shape when he saw you,” Robb said, giving him a once-over. “But you look good.”

Theon scoffed.

“I mean it! Recovering from something like that…” The look in Robb’s eyes was so genuine it hurt. “I’m really proud of you.”

Drowned hell.

“You shouldn’t be,” Theon’s voice cracked.

“I am.” Robb carefully took Theon’s hand, mindful of the stumped fingers as if the wounds were still fresh. “And I’ve missed you. You should come over sometime. Meet my fiancée. Hang out like we used to.”

“I would like that.”

Robb squeezed his hand before release, noting that someone else had come up to check out their books. “My number’s the same. I’ll give you a ring sometime, okay?”

“Okay.” Theon scanned his items and printed his slip, tucking it inside one of the film cases. “Congratulations. On getting engaged.”

“Yeah.” Robb grinned widely. “She’s great. I was starting to worry that I’d have to make Sansa wrangle you into attending _my_ wedding.”

“Dramatic.”

“You jumped out a window, dude.” Robb’s smile flickered as he readied to leave. “I haven’t given up, you know. On the investigation. I know people in the police department and I’m not letting them shelve the case. However long it takes, we’ll find the monster who did this to you.”

Theon’s smile froze on his face. He wordlessly watched Robb go, feeling like all the blood had drained from his body.

* * *

At the end of the day Theon made his lonesome journey home. He never strayed or detoured, always going straight to work or therapy and back again.

His therapist was always telling him the importance of structure and routine, and nowadays life sure came with a lot of rules. Atop the mandated meal planning, ever since Theon had his ‘clothing privileges’ revoked he was spending mornings, evenings, and weekends tending to the house in an apron and socks and nothing else. If he wanted to cover himself it’d have to be in lacy underthings Ramsay bought, and only after he begged for them. He usually opted to stay bare.

Sometimes Ramsay was there when Theon returned, sometimes he wasn’t. Rules had to be followed either way.

Today the telltale ritzy car was parked in the drive by the time Theon came home. He walked his bicycle up the path, the sound of gentle waves rolling in the background. He slipped his way inside to find Ramsay on the couch and staring unseeing at the television.

“Welcome home. How was work?”

Immediately warning bells began to chime.

“Uh. Good,” Theon said, shutting the door behind him. “I mean, it was. Fine.”

“Good. Fine,” Ramsay repeated with a gentle nod. “Anything _special_ happen?”

“Special?” Theon mentally kicked himself. Of course he knew, master knew everything. “Not really. I mean, Robb passed through but-“

“Robb Stark,” Ramsay rose to his feet. “Got on a forty minute train so he could ‘pass through’ your branch.”

“I don’t know how he knew I’d be there,” Theon said, his back hitting the door. He didn’t even realize he’d started backing away. “Someone told him. I wasn’t expecting him.”

“But you were happy to see him, weren’t you? You even let him _touch_ you.”

Theon’s mind went momentarily blank before booting up in rapid action, desperately rifling through the files of his memory. Touch him? When had he- oh.

“He took my hand,” Theon said, desperation mounting. “It was just for a minute, it doesn’t mean anything, he invited me to his wedding for fuck’s sake-“

“Oh _sweetheart_. You think Robb Stark actually cares? About _you_? How pathetic,” Ramsay said, words like poison honey. “You know he only feels guilty about what happened. That infamous Stark nobility, telling him to throw a simpering dog a bone.”

Theon’s eyes fell to his feet. “I know.”

“You weren’t going to tell me he came by, were you? So that’s how it’s to be. You’re going to keep nasty little secrets from me?”

His gaze shot up in alarm. “No! No, I’d never-“

“But you _would._ You’re lying to me right now.” Ramsay scowled. “Why the fuck are you still dressed? Take off your clothes and get in the corner.”

Theon blinked. He followed the pointed gesture across the living room to the corner by the hearth. “Why-“

Icy eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re questioning me?”

“No!” Theon nearly tripped in his haste to strip down. “No sir.”

He dejectedly did as he was told and pressed his forehead into the corner, painfully aware that his bruised arse was in direct view of the front windows. The little stretch of land around the house was private property but people didn’t always respect that, rarely walking up and down the beach in disregard for the signs. He prayed that wouldn’t be the case for the duration of whatever Ramsay was doing now.

Theon could hear Ramsay rummaging through things in the bedroom. There was the distinctive rustle of Ramsay’s “work bag”, a duffle that Theon couldn’t have been paid to look through himself.

Finally the footsteps returned and drew close.

“You can look at me.”

Theon warily drew his eyes away from the wall. Ramsay was standing beside him, body language relaxed but eyes bright and feral. He was holding a USB drive with a laptop tucked under his arm.

“We’re going to watch a special film together. A little something to remind you of who you are, and who you belong to.”

“Rams-“

“Ssh. It’s alright. I know you get confused. But it’s very simple, you see. Maybe Robb Stark loved Old Theon, and perhaps Old Theon loved him back. A long time ago.” Ramsay began to herd him into the bedroom. “So we’re going to stroll down memory lane, you and me, and we’re going to recall just how that story ended.”

The laptop was set upon the foot of the bed, with Theon instructed to sit down. Ramsay cozied up beside him as if it was just another movie night, but the air remained fraught and thick with tension.

The fullscreen video began to play, showcasing a vague blur that slowly wobbled into focus.

Theon immediately moved to leap upright, only for Ramsay’s grip to close around him like a vice.

“Easy, now. It’s just getting started.”

The footage was clearly taken with a phone, albeit an expensive one with a good camera. It panned up and down the length of Theon’s body, which was trembling and struggling in his restraints. Theon barely recognized himself on the screen - how fit he’d once been, with toned muscles and strong arms. Such clean, unmarked skin.

The blindfolded version of him in the dungeon clearly didn’t know he wasn’t alone in the cell, let alone that he was being filmed.

_ "Hello!? Th-this isn’t fucking funny, okay? What do you want!? Money? My family-” _

The video cut out and immediately changed in quality, apparently now being filmed by a mounted tripod.

_ Theon was still blindfolded and on the saltire. Ramsay’s back was to the camera but he was obviously masked as he ran his blade across Theon’s finger, stripping the skin piece by piece. Theon was thrashing and screaming, shouting so loud that the audio popped painfully. _

“This was the hook,” Ramsay murmured in his ear. “After this one, everyone was clamoring for more. Sending me all these suggestions of what to do with you next. They were very pushy, actually. I didn’t much care for that. Some savages just have no appreciation for art, it’s all take, take, take until they get their rocks off.”

Theon couldn’t move. Couldn’t think nor process what Ramsay had just said. His memories were blurring with what he saw before him, the two distinct angles of his nightmares overlaid atop one another. His world was starting to get fuzzy at the edges, as if reality was detaching from itself.

The scenes rolled from one to the next, camera quality inconsistent. Theon getting whipped, taken by a surveillance camera. Theon losing a toe, taken by the tripod. Theon begging for water, taken by a mobile phone.

Theon getting fucked for the first time, taken on a camcorder. Ramsay held it in one hand and pinned Theon to the floor with the other, rutting in and out heedless of the sobbing wreck beneath him. From that angle, it was easy for the viewer to imagine that they were the one raping him. Then when it was done, it was in perfect focus as Theon wept and mindlessly clung to his abuser for comfort.

“You made so many men come for you,” Ramsay said huskily, and it was in that moment Theon realized the other man was hard.

“W…who?”

“No one important. Like-minded peers on the internet, mainly.”

Theon choked back a sob. “And. And the Boys?”

“Baby, they’re your biggest fans. You always took it so beautifully, they were _smitten_.”

Before Theon could even try to think of a reply, the scene changed.

_ Theon was strapped to a table, the setting far cleaner and better-lit than usual. _

_ “What are you doing? Please-“ _

_ Ramsay struck him with a backhand but didn’t even glance away from his surgical instruments. Blades gleamed brightly, casting a glare in the surveillance camera’s lens. _

Theon began to properly panic, struggling to wrench free of Ramsay’s grip.

“No, no no please, don’t make me, I can’t watch this-“

“You’ll sit put and do what I say,” Ramsay said, locking his arms around Theon tighter than ever. “This is the best part.”

His eyes were bright as he watched that castration unfold, his erection pressing so hard against Theon’s hip that it had to be painful. The screams crackling from the speakers were unholy. They intermixed with Theon’s own sobs as the space between his legs throbbed with a phantom pain. His nails were scraping viciously across the bed frame and he couldn’t even feel it.

“Ram-“

“If you can’t restrain yourself, I’ll put you in cuffs,” Ramsay said, eyes still locked on the screen. “You’re not breaking a fucking nail unless it’s by me taking a hammer to it.”

Theon whined, an inhuman noise as he fisted his hands in his hair. Gods, it had to end soon. How long had it taken the first time? It had felt like forever. He bit his tongue to stop from outright screaming but a strangled sound still escaped. He knocked his head back against the headboard as he struggled to cope with what he was watching.

“I told you to stop that,” Ramsay said sharply. “You’re not allowed to hurt yourself.”

Theon was too incoherent to respond, reduced to desperate whimpers and open weeping.

“Stop, stop, I’m begging you-“ He was practically saying it in stereo with his recording.

Ramsay gave a heavy sigh before leaning forward to close the laptop. The screams cut off abruptly.

“You understand now then? _That_ Theon, _Robb Stark’s_ Theon, is dead. It’s ancient history.” Ramsay cradled him like he weighed nothing at all, hands skating up and down his form. “It’s time to look to the future.”

* * *

Ramsay bathed him that night.

The master bathroom had a clawfoot tub that was probably an antique. Its walls were so high that Theon couldn’t help but think that getting in and out of it was some sort of slipping hazard. Ramsay had settled him in the warm water and wiped at his face with a small towel, cleaning off the tears and snot and traces of cum.

“You know that I love you,” Ramsay said, washing him. “You make me go mad. If you ever tried to leave me again… I don’t know what I would do.”

Long seconds passed with Theon staring numbly into the distance.

“Where would I go?” He finally asked, tongue heavy in his mouth.

The idea that Robb was still hoping to find the Hornwood Butcher was almost unfathomable. The police were never going to catch Ramsay, be it due to incompetence, bribery or fear. Not unless someone came forward.

It wasn’t going to be Theon. He tried to justify it with the knowledge that no one would even believe him, not now, not after months of dating the man. A former inpatient, unhinged and without evidence, accusing the son of a modern lord? It would just be added to the long list of things people whispered about the Boltons but couldn’t confirm.

And that was to say nothing of the consequences. Theon was all too aware of how easy it would be for Ramsay to hurt the Starks as well as anyone else he cared about. The thought of Robb in some dark cellar, confused and bleeding like Theon had once been, was too much to bear.

Equally painful was the prospect of Ramsay going to prison, locked away forever or worse - executed for his crimes. Ramsay had tortured people, killed people. Hell, he _still_ tortured and killed people. If it came to it Roose Bolton would surely throw his son under the bus to preserve his own operations. Theon was the one too weak to let it happen.

The scenes of his own torment repeatedly played in his mind. Everything looked different through the lens of the terrible truth. Theon’s nighttime monster was a man. A man who had charmed and won him, feeding the awful black hole of hurt and need that gaped in his soul. A hole that had always been there, probably. Ramsay had only unearthed it, cruelly ripping all defenses and disguises away.

There was no way out. Theon knew this even as he felt the old training reactivating inside of him. If he didn’t get out he was going to lose some vital piece of himself, a piece he’d been cultivating and tending to ever since his escape.

_He ruined me. He ruined everything._

A voice that sounded like Ramsay circled around in his brain. _You barely had a life to ruin,_ it said. _You would have ruined it yourself within five years anyway._

Maybe. It would have been his to ruin regardless. Now… Theon didn’t know. Everything he was and had belonged to Ramsay now. He’d already signed his meager power away.

* * *

The weeks leading up to Midsummer passed through a procession of balmy, rainy days and nights buffeted by cold ocean winds.

Theon didn’t fight or argue anymore. He let Ramsay take him to expensive dinners paid for in blood, accepted the ‘gifts’ of lingerie and new implements to be beaten with. Let Ramsay pose and position and photograph him. He wasn’t happy about it and didn’t pretend to be, but fighting had never gotten him anywhere regardless.

Ramsay, although pleased by the submission, was clearly growing impatient with the melancholy.

“You’re not going to be like this for Midsummer, are you?” Ramsay asked upon finding Theon sitting in the sand and staring listlessly beyond the surf. “My family’s going to think I killed your cat or something.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“I could get you one. I said I would once we moved in together.”

Theon pondered it. He liked cats and had always wanted a pet of his own, but…

“Maybe a dog would be better. A small one?”

“Why?” Ramsay asked, suspicious. “You think I’ll hurt a cat but not a dog, is that it?”

“Isn’t it?”

Ramsay’s eye twitched. “Whatever mood you’re in, you need to get over it. I don’t understand what the problem is. You already knew all those things happened. You were there. What does it matter if you saw a shitty recording?”

Theon was silent, counting the beats in waves lapping upon the shore.

“I love you, Ramsay,” he said finally. “But sometimes I wish you’d killed me.”

Something in the air shifted then.

In the following days Theon noticed that all manner of sharp objects had disappeared from the cottage. Cleaning supplies too. Ramsay was around more often than ever, undoubtedly neglecting his father’s work in the process. Even the neighbors seemed to notice, all cooing to him about how noble and sweet he was for being so dedicated to “that poor thing” he called a boyfriend.

Ramsay insisted on shaving him now, just like he did back at the Boltons’ cabin. Theon didn’t flinch or shudder this time.

Finally Ramsay threw the blade into the sink with disgust, job only half-done.

“The fuck is it you want, then?” He snapped, ignoring the splatter of shaving cream across the bathroom counter.

Theon stared at him. It felt odd. As if he suddenly held a strange and transient power.

“… I want to go to Robb’s wedding.”

Ramsay scowled. “I’d have to come too.”

“Okay.”

“And you’ll never be alone with him again.”

“Alright.”

 _“Fine._ ” Ramsay picked up the straight razor once more. “Fuck’s sake. You better have your shit together for this dinner, so help me.”

“Of course.”

Something like warmth came back into Theon’s chest. From his seat on the counter he hugged Ramsay’s legs with the tips of his toes. A small and fleeting touch, but one of genuine affection.

“Thank you.”

“Piss off,” Ramsay muttered. “Manipulative cunt.”

“You worry a lot about losing me,” Theon said quietly. “But you didn’t learn from how you did it the first time.”

“If you keep talking then I’m going to end up slicing your pretty face before the party, and then we _all_ fucking lose.”

“Yes sir.”

Theon didn’t doubt that it was the pressure of the upcoming event that had Ramsay conceding ground. It was plain to see that he wanted to impress his father. Or prove Roose Bolton wrong, perhaps, by demonstrating that he could have a stable relationship and keep a person as well as he kept his hounds.

Theon had gleaned from his sister that there were financial interests at play as well: the Greyjoys had gotten in bed with the Targaryen woman, with the Boltons seeing the alliance as viable to undermine the Baratheons and thus get further out from under the Starks. Theon hoped Robb and Sansa and the rest didn’t think too much less of him by association. Surely they knew that he had nothing to do with business dealings in any capacity, save for being the point of connection between Roose Bolton and Yara like an old-timey trophy wife.

Midsummer was Ramsay’s chance to demonstrate his control to his father. Having Theon show up as a living shell probably wasn’t ideal. Under any other circumstances, it might have been a different story.

A happy holiday indeed.

* * *

Midsummer wasn’t as big a deal in the islands due to the lack of greenery and the prevalence of summer storms. There were festivals for sure, mainly involving boat races and cookouts or other community festivities on the pier, but it wasn’t a time of warm bliss like on the mainland.

The North however took any break in the oppressive grey skies and endless snow very seriously. The roots of Midsummer were deeply entrenched in the faith of the Old Gods and their relationship with the earth; days of sunshine and warmth were brief and rare, so the magnitude of the festival was rivaled only by the winter solstice itself.

In recent years Walda Bolton had started hosting a celebration at the Dreadfort, the very notion of which sounded absolutely hogwild to Theon’s ears. Midsummer at the Stark estate had always been bright and cheerful, with music and dancing and hired entertainment for the children. Imagining anything of that nature at the Bolton’s meticulously restored stronghold simply did not compute - especially considering all of the family’s associates, relations and employees that had been invited. Theon was not looking forward to rubbing elbows with gangsters in the paper plate line.

He shared a bed with something far worse of course, so what did it matter really?

The drive around the Bolton estate was choked with fancy cars, a gleaming single file lining the shoulder up to the historic building.

As Ramsay pulled into the garage Theon could already hear the distant sounds of music and gathered people. He fussed with the buttons of his waistcoat, feeling self conscious. It was probably the biggest crowd he’d been near since Sansa’s wedding, and at least for that he’d managed to lurk invisibly on the fringes. Here he was dating the host’s son, and somehow hiding in a closet didn’t seem like an option.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Ramsay insisted, pulling Theon out of the car and to his feet. “Just stay at my side and you’ll be fine.”

The Bolton yard had been transformed for the occasion. A maypole was erected, as was a pavilion for the live musicians, with multiple grills churning out barbecue. Children were running around, cooing at the horses and being led in various games by the staff hired to keep them busy. Adults were drinking and conversing at picnic tables, blankets and lawn chairs.

“I’m guessing this is all your stepmom.”

Ramsay made a disgusted noise in response. “She’s been _insufferable_. Nonstop jabbering about the catering and the entertainment and the fucking flowers that had to be shipped in. Madwoman.”

“And your dad?”

“He’ll do a walk around every now and then to give the illusion he’s been at the party all along. Expect to find him in his office.”

“Wow.”

Maybe the man had the right idea. Fortunately when Ramsay steered Theon around the party, it was only to make cursory introductions or greetings. The guests eyed Ramsay with a mix of polite manners and veiled wariness. Upon being introduced to “my partner, Theon Greyjoy” those calculating gazes wound up fixed on Theon instead. It was a struggle to meet their eyes and not shrink away.

“What, am I actually a trophy wife now?" Theon murmured as they drifted toward the food.

“Of course not. We’re not even married yet, silly dog.”

Yet?

Theon didn’t know what to say so he remained silent. After getting their food Ramsay pulled him towards a table on the periphery of the event - Theon went rigid like a horse protesting to be led.

“Don’t be like that.”

The Boys were gathered together, talking and laughing before they began to take notice of Theon’s presence. Immediately the looks in their eyes took on a sinister quality.

“They saw,” Theon said, his voice cracking. “Did… did they ever-“

 _Did you ever let them touch me when I was too drugged or blindfolded to tell the difference_ was too terrible to voice aloud.

“Why do you ask things that only upset you?” Ramsay rubbed Theon’s lower back. “You’re mine now and they know it. Don’t let their little crushes bother you.”

Ramsay walked him over with an iron hand around his waist, strong and uncompromising, and sat him at the center of the table. Theon could feel multiple eyes raking over his body, mentally undressing him to get at the scars underneath. He remained focused on his plate, nibbling food he could hardly taste as conversations occurred around him.

At one point he felt the caress of someone’s foot slide up the back of his leg - his eyes shot up to meet Damon’s across the table. The man gave him a wink that was as mocking as it was suggestive.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Theon blurted, extracting himself from the picnic table so quick he nearly tripped to the ground. “I’ll be back.”

He was power striding across the grass and to the fort before anyone could stop him. Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Skinner’s obnoxious voice.

“… so does he have to sit down to take a piss now, or what?”

Theon doubled his speed.

* * *

The restroom Theon knew about was already occupied when he got there, which was fine since it justified taking longer to return to the table. He leaned against the corridor wall and tried to even out his breathing. The only way to keep himself steady was to block it all out; he simply could not let himself imagine the boys huddled around and watching those tapes, nor could he endure speculating on whether the hands he’d felt in the dark had belonged to anyone else.

He wandered the corridor until finding a little alcove to sit in and stretch his stiff leg. Maybe Ramsay was right and Theon was being difficult. Sensitive. He’d already committed to loving Ramsay despite knowing full well what sort of man he was. It was a take it or leave it deal, wasn’t it? And Theon had already proven that he could not leave Ramsay, for multiple reasons, so the only option that remained was to take and accept all of him. Right?

Ramsay loved him. He was a sadistic and sexually depraved bastard, but he had still found it in his black heart to feel love, and for Theon of all people.

He was startled hard from his thoughts when someone rounded the corner. At first he thought it was Ramsay. He realized his mistake: this man had a similar jawline but was taller and leaner. He had similar dark curls and the same striking winter eyes, but he was older by at least five years.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” There was laughter in his voice but it was friendly, not at all mean spirited or mocking. “You alright?”

“… Yeah,” Theon said, still looking him over. “I just needed to get away for a minute.”

“We’re on the same page,” the man said with a sheepish grin. “I love Walda’s parties but I’m not too good at the smalltalk thing. Makes me a pretty lousy host.”

“Host?” Oh no.

“Gods, I’ve got no manners. I’m Domeric. Forgive me for not knowing your name, I just came up from the Vale this morning.”

Theon awkwardly shook Domeric’s hand, painfully aware of how the man’s eyes were drawn to the missing spaces where fingers had once been.

“Oh.” Domeric blinked. “You’re Theon. Right? Ramsay’s Theon.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. I suppose it’d be pretty trite to give you my condolences, but. It takes a lot of strength to come back from what you did. The idea that something like _that_ could happen this area… it’s unspeakable.”

Theon was momentarily lost for words. “You don’t know?”

Domeric tilted his head inquisitively. “Know what?”

“Your brother…” Theon didn’t know how to finish.

He knew that Domeric Bolton had spent most of his life studying abroad and was slated to inherit everything his Barrowton aunt had to give. But he was the Bolton firstborn, and surely he wasn’t so out of touch with his family’s dealings? Did he know what Ramsay did for their father? Or did he just not know that Ramsay did even more than that in his free time?

“Your brother’s been good to me,” Theon said finally, deciding not to take the risk.

Domeric grinned. “I’m really glad to hear that. We were worried about him, he’s always been a bit isolated. His birth status didn’t help. He was with that one girl for a while, but I can’t say I ever cared for her. I always thought he needed someone kind, you know? To bring out the best in him and get past all those pretenses he puts up. I’m sure you’ve noticed he can be a bit insecure.”

Theon frowned. It felt like they shouldn’t be talking about this. “He really wants to prove himself.”

“Exactly! And he doesn’t like to be vulnerable or let people close. I always tried to be there for him, but… I think me being the eldest and him being a Snow doomed it from the start. I don’t blame him though! I’d resent me too, if it was the other way around.” Domeric placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad I’ve gotten to meet you. I think you’re really good for him, Theon.”

“You’ve only just met me,” Theon said in a feeble attempt to laugh off what he was feeling.

“I know enough. Ramsay’s different with you. I’ve never seen him this emotionally invested in anything other than his dogs!”

Theon was trying desperately to figure Domeric out. Was this a wind up?

“Anyway, I’m sure he’s worrying about you. I’ll walk you out; it’s too easy to get lost in here.”

Domeric led the way back outside. Guests who spotted him eagerly waved, sending him smiles that actually seemed genuine. The kind, safe Bolton brother. At least that was the reputation Domeric had curated for himself. If it was a ruse, it was an utterly brilliant angle to play.

They approached Ramsay’s table to see that all the food, including the plate Theon had abandoned, was gone. The boys immediately grew subdued at the sight of Domeric, exchanging unreadable glances and all but shrinking themselves into the background. Ramsay, on the other hand, looked rather displeased.

“Brother. I see you’ve found something of mine.”

“Theon got a little lost, that’s all,” Domeric said, with a pat on Theon’s back that had Ramsay’s eyes darkening. “No harm done.”

“Right. Well if that’s all-“

“I was just thinking you and I should catch up later ourselves,” Domeric said pleasantly. “So much has happened since I was home last.”

“I’m not sure I’ll have time,” Ramsay said through grit teeth.

“I know father keeps you so busy, but it’s a holiday.” Domeric ruffled Ramsay’s hair and there was a palpable increase in the stress hormones of everyone else around that table. “I’ve missed you, baby brother. So we’ll talk soon, okay?”

They all watched him go with some mix of shock and horror. If Domeric had lit Ramsay’s shirt on fire, the insult would have still been lesser.

After several agonizing minutes Ramsay set his shaken gaze on Theon, and immediately the dread began to set in.

* * *

After the party Theon was to spend the night at the Dreadfort.

At evening dinner Domeric and Walda filled the silence all by themselves, talking happily about the festivities and guests and how life was suiting him down south. Roose had been as stoic as ever, barely reacting to the change brought by his eldest’s presence, but Ramsay was clearly simmering in his chair.

Ramsay’s younger brother and sister were four and two respectively. They had more or less knocked out at the end of the party, depleted by all the excitement. Ramsay didn’t seem to have any opinion on them whatsoever, but Domeric… there was something going on there.

After dinner Domeric had insisted on having some time to catch up with Ramsay in the study, leaving Theon to wander around unattended. He made his way to the kennels without thinking about it, anxiety bubbling in his stomach. If Ramsay was in a bad mood following the conversation with his brother, it left little mystery as to who he would take it out on.

Theon watched the dogs scamper and climb over each other within their stall. The puppies he’d met on the first weekend with Ramsay were already growing so large, getting split into separate pens to accommodate their growth. Time was funny that way, wasn’t it?

“Well look what we have here. A bitch got loose from its pen.”

Theon twitched. He didn’t have to turn around. He could feel the Boys moving behind him, could see vividly in his mind’s eye the knowing smirks and looks they were giving each other.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Uh, excuse you? We’ve been here all our lives, thanks,” Alyn sneered. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Come on man, it’s obvious. He’s got to be a real fucked up bitch,” Skinner said. “One of those freaks that are into anything.”

“I dunno, he’s a bit of a crier for that. How about it sweetheart? You like it when Ramsay puts his steel in you?”

Amidst the cruel laughter Theon pushed away from the stall and moved for the exit, only to find the way blocked.

“Not so quick. We been missing you something terrible, you know?” Damon said. “Stay a while.”

Theon set his jaw, straining to keep down the tears.

“You want to know what Ramsay and I do?” He asked, voice rough but clear.

“Oh, we know exactly what the two of you do.”

“I bet you think about it a lot,” Theon said, determinedly meeting Damon’s gaze. “Imagine us all the time, right? Or maybe you imagine that it’s you.”

Damon was beginning to frown, confusion on his features. “What are you-“

Without breaking eye contact Theon unclasped his trousers and lowered them to mid-thigh, exposing the pale blue silk underneath.

“Is this what you think about?” He asked. “You want to touch me? Go on and do it then.”

The boys were beginning to exchange uncomfortable looks - or at least the ones who were able to look away at all were. They all knew who Theon belonged to.

“That’s what I thought.” Theon pulled his trousers back up and fastened them in place. “Unless Ramsay’s here, you don’t talk to me again.”

He pushed for the exit, and this time they let him leave.

* * *

Ramsay was in a bad mood when he returned that night, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.

“So did you like my brother?” He asked, voice falsely sweet. “Don’t you think he’s so smart and charming?”

“I don’t know,” Theon said calmly. “I don’t really understand him.”

Ramsay laughed coldly. “He’s an idiot. That’s all there is to understand. You should have heard him! Saying he’s fucking _proud_ and _happy_ for me, that he ‘hopes I know that I’m loved’. He’s _disgusting._ ”

“Your father sheltered him. Or let him grow up sheltered by others,” Theon said carefully. “I don’t think your brother is… well, really a _Bolton_ in the way you are.”

Ramsay fumed on the edge of the bed, but his silence invited Theon to continue. This was a side of Ramsay that he hadn’t seen before: a less confident, more threatened man that feared rejection and longed for things that brutality alone couldn’t win him. It was so strangely human.

“He knows that you’re stronger than he is. He wants you to take on the responsibilities and tasks that he can’t,” Theon said. “I don’t think he really wants the Bolton legacy. Why else does he spend so much time away from home?”

Ramsay made a begrudging noise in response.

“He’s not your competition. I know you hate him, and that’s fine. But I think you could use him, too.” Theon dared to inch closer, chin propped on Ramsay’s shoulder.

“I don’t need him,” Ramsay said bitterly. “I can take what I want for myself.”

“Yeah? Don’t you already have what you want?” Theon paused. “… Or maybe it’s that you do. And you’re afraid of it being taken away.”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

Theon pressed a coaxing kiss to Ramsay’s neck. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

Ramsay scoffed but agreeably pressed Theon down into the bed. “You’d say anything.”

“Actions speak louder. If I was going to leave, I would have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You know why.”

He couldn't help but think back to what Domeric said, about him and Ramsay being suited for each other. Ramsay needed someone soft and nonthreatening to allow past his walls. Theon needed someone strong and stern, to hold him down and free him from his own power. They were terrible on their own and even more terrible together. But frankly Theon was so used to being miserable, he'd take this pleasant poison if it meant filling the gaping hole he'd always had inside.

 _I don't know how to live without you,_ Theon thought helplessly as Ramsay began to position him on the bed. _And I'm not sure I want to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just pushed the Stockholm Syndrome lever to full throttle. I want it to be especially ambiguous if there's any love happening here, or just Theon's trauma and Ramsay's yandere personality colliding like atoms.
> 
> Those who know me already know I headcanon Hugh Dancy as Domeric Bolton. I just felt compelled to share that with you all. Anyway once I come back from lunch I'll give this another go-over. Thanks guys!


	3. Lunasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a birthday gift to Totel, I have added this extra chapter. It's so filled to the brim with fanservice and concepts from fan art they've done for me that they honestly qualify for co-author status. But that aside I hope it's content all of you can enjoy <3

Theon had been subjected to many uncomfortable dinners in his life: his first evening with the Starks when he came to the mainland, his early attempts at choking down hospital food as his aide pointedly watched, his ‘welcome back from being tortured’ meal with his family after being ferried back to the islands… truly awkward dining experiences. Surely after all that, nothing was going to come close.

He should have known.

The door was flung open before Theon could even work up the strength to knock.

“You’re here! Come in, come in!” Robb’s smile was at odds with his frantic energy, and he pulled Theon into the flat with an almost manic enthusiasm. “I can take your coat. Unless you’re cold? A-and you can keep your shoes on too, if your feet aren’t… that is, if you’re more comfortable that way.”

“Thanks.”

The flat was immaculate. The exact sort of place Theon would have imagined that Robb would someday have. It was only a temporary place, of course. The family property and management of the direwolf preserve its lands had been converted to would be Robb’s someday. He and Jeyne were just playing house to get some much-needed privacy away from Mrs. Stark and the rest of the clan.

Jeyne greeted Theon with a warm, apologetic smile. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Theon. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things!” Robb cut in. “All the best things.”

“Oh. That’s good?” Theon shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Jeyne came to the rescue with a glance at the basket held before him. “And you’ve brought bread!”

“ _You brought bread!_ ” Robb echoed with twice the gusto. “Amazing. I’ll just- this is great, really great-“

Theon watched as Robb shuttled the bread loaf into the kitchen, presumably to be sliced.

Jeyne cleared her throat. “Did you bake it yourself?”

“Uh, yeah-“

“He _baked_ it! _Himself!”_

Theon frowned, brow raised in the direction of the kitchen. “Is he…?”

“He’s fine,” Jeyne said with a sigh. “He’s just really happy you’re here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Just give him a minute.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Ever since you said yes to dinner, it’s all he’s been on about. Now that you’re here I think he’s just scared of messing it up.”

Theon nearly laughed out loud. As if Robb had ever been responsible for any of the things that went wrong between them. Hell, Theon had nearly been unable to attend this dinner at all. Ramsay had all but flipped the table on him when he broached the subject.

 _“Robb already doesn’t like you,”_ is what Theon had said, empty hands raised in the face of Ramsay’s wrath. _“He knows what the Northern families say about the Boltons. I don’t want him to get suspicious…”_

Theon wouldn’t be alone with Robb anyway, he was only meeting the fiancée before the wedding. One night, one dinner while Ramsay worked a job for his father.

“It’s a shame your boyfriend couldn’t join us,” Jeyne said as the pair of them took a seat.

“Ramsay had work tonight.”

“Ah. And what was it that Ramsay does?”

Theon could sense Robb’s attention sharpening from the next room over. Even after all this time he could still read the man, walls between them be damned.

“He’s studying to be a Medical Assistant,” Theon said carefully. “Right now he’s a phlebotomist at one of his family’s medical centers.”

“Oh, I see. I’m a nurse myself over at the public hospital. Long hours?”

“He works more in a… on-call capacity.”

Robb emerged from the kitchen with a tray of sliced bread and softened butter.

“Really too bad he got called in,” he said. “I would’ve liked to talk to him.”

“Y-yeah. Too bad.”

Theon knew on the spot that he’d do whatever it took to keep Robb and Ramsay from ever being alone together. Lives could very well depend on it.

“You guys have been together a while, right?” Jeyne said as she poured a round of wine. “Your anniversary must be coming up soon.”

“It’s hard to say. Our first real date was in February, but before that we were long distance… I’m not entirely sure what the anniversary date would be.”

Were they meant to celebrate that night in the hotel, after Sansa’s wedding? The first streamed movie night? The dinner date on Promise Night? Theon had a terrible suspicion that Ramsay considered their ‘true’ anniversary to mark their time spent in the Hornwood cellar.

Theon’s hands were curled anxiously in his lap. The scar on his ring finger itched. Maybe their anniversary was the night Ramsay had flayed a ring of skin away and jokingly called them betrothed.

“Theon?”

His gaze snapped up to meet the eyes of his hosts. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to eat? The bread is really good.”

“Oh… thank you.” He kept his hands in his lap.

“I still can’t believe you made it. You bake now?” Robb asked with what seemed to be genuine awe.

“A bit.” _I’m not allowed to work the gas stove, so the oven is all I can use._ “I’ve been practicing for Lunasa. Ramsay and I are going to see his mother. She owns a bakery. I know I’m not that good, I just don’t want to be embarrassingly bad, you know?”

“Well it’s not bad, I’ll tell you that much,” Robb said, smearing more butter on. “Meeting the mother, huh? That’s pretty serious.”

“I suppose.” For the longest time Theon had actually assumed Ramsay’s mother was dead. Apparently she was not only alive, but still in contact with her son. “She lives in Weepingridge. It’s this little hamlet way up the river.”

“That’s pretty far out. Is it safe? What if there’s an emergency?” Robb asked with a frown.

“Of course Theon will be fine,” Jeyne said, comfortingly rubbing Robb’s knee. “It’s nothing compared to the wilderness Jon’s living out of.”

“But-“ Robb caught himself on something he saw in Jeyne’s eyes. “… Right. I’m glad you’re getting out more, Theon. I’m sure the new scenery will do you good.”

“Thanks. I’m a little nervous about meeting her, but. I think that’s normal?”

“Oh, yes.” Jeyne nodded. “I completely understand.”

“What?” Robb finally tore his gaze from Theon. “What do you mean by that?”

The conversation shifted away to playful bickering. Theon would have once found it insufferable. He had been so quick to jealousy over Robb back in the day, always deathly afraid of losing his one friend every time he wasn’t the center of attention. Now Theon only felt warm - Robb had missed him, and didn’t hate him, and he was in a relationship that was clearly loving and healthy.

Theon felt his phone buzz in his pocket and surreptitiously fished it out beneath the table.

_‘Having fun?’_

* * *

The old seaside cottage was dark by the time Theon returned.

Surprise, relief and worry washed over him in quick succession. Where was Ramsay? Was it a good or bad thing that he wasn’t here? When was he coming back, if at all?

Perhaps he had gone home and fallen asleep. Theon wouldn’t mind going to bed himself, but if Ramsay came back and got upset that he hadn’t waited up… in the end he opted to simply wait with his anxiety building in his stomach. For three long hours he sat curled on the couch, his cautious text messages going unread.

It was late at night when the glare of headlights rolled across the front windows, sparking him on alert. The deep rumbling of an engine nearly drowned out the hatefully distinctive sounds of the Boys’ laughter and muddled words.

Theon hastened to pull the door open and immediately the blazing headlights of Skinner’s massive truck nearly blinded him. He squinted through the glare, barely able to make out the approaching silhouettes.

“Stairs, stairs, _another one_ dammit, fuck’s sake-“ A heavy weight was then flung into Theon’s chest, almost bowling him over. “And there you go. Home with your bitch.”

Theon looked in utter bewilderment at the sleepily grumbling Ramsay that had been tossed to him. The smell of spirits was heavy in his nose.

“I thought you guys were working tonight!”

“Yeah, then we finished and went to the pubs,” Damon said with barely a backwards glance. “Roose doesn’t like when Ramsay comes home piss drunk, and none of us wanna put up with him like this and bumming off our couches. That’s your job now, innit?”

“I… but…” He looked worriedly at Ramsay, the man seemingly lost in his own world with his nose buried in Theon’s neck.

“’sides, it’s you he’s been bitching and moaning about all night long. So deal with it.”

Theon watched in dismay as Damon mounted the back of Skinner’s truck. Without further ceremony the monstrosity rumbled up the drive and into the night.

“About time,” Ramsay mumbled as Theon half-dragged him indoors. “Noisy fuckers.”

Theon hastily leaned him against the sofa only to be swatted off. His cheeks were unusually flushed and his eyes seemed to be blinking even less than usual. All in all an unnerving sight.

“Well, well.” Ramsay straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Theon turned away from latching the door, brow furrowed in confusion. “I’ve been home for hours.”

“Had a fun night did you?” Ramsay continued, ignoring him. “Robb Stark keep you busy?”

“Me? What about you!?” Theon made a wide gesture at the room. “I had no idea where you were! It’s past midnight!”

“I got drinks with the lads,” Ramsay said with a loose shrug. “Had to do _something_ while you were off spending the night with another man.”

Theon knew they were sailing black waters. Ramsay had an odd look in his eyes: his gaze had gone sharp and wide, like a wild animal waiting for an opening. Even when Ramsay was angry he tended to adopt a sort of false sweetness or a mocking edge, but now his face was stoic and cold.

Theon deliberately softened his voice. “I was barely there for three hours. We had dinner, talked a bit and I went home. It was just to meet Jeyne before the wedding, remember? Robb’s getting _married_ -“

“The fuck does that matter? Sure as hell doesn’t stop him from sniffing after you, three bloody years after you put fire to his house.”

“We’ve talked about this, it’s not like that! He just feels sorry for me-“

“Ohh yes. Poor, pathetic Theon Greyjoy. Needs a big strong hero to save him, right? I bet that gets Stark _dripping_ hard,” Ramsay said nastily. “He seems like the type. Or maybe now that he knows what a cockslut you are he thinks he’s got a chance. Wants to get himself a weepy little side piece, someone he can do raw while his wife’s on the night shift-“

“He wouldn’t!” Theon couldn’t listen to this. “Stop, please-“

The backhand was quick, unchecked and without warning. He was on the floor before he literally knew what hit him, his ears ringing.

“-know that I can’t stand that word,” Ramsay was saying from somewhere up above. “Look at you. I can’t remember why I didn’t just put you back in the basement where you belong.”

Ramsay rolled Theon over with the heel of his shoe, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. With the toe of his boot under Theon’s chin, he guided them to eye contact.

“You’re still pretty, you know? Even prettier on the floor,” he sneered. “You think Robb Stark knows? How sweet you look when you bleed and cry for me? You think he’d get off on it if I sent him those lovely movies we made together?”

“Y-you’re drunk,” Theon said, jaw aching and the whole right side of his face sure to swell. “You don’t mean it.”

“Don’t tell me what I am.” Ramsay left him there, unmeasured steps stomping heavily in and out of Theon’s field of vision. “We’re talking about you. I should have gelded you properly. Now you’re sniveling after Robb Stark like a bitch in heat, clamoring after my brother-“

“What!? I never-“

“I’ve seen the two of you!” Suddenly Ramsay was properly shouting, which was something Theon hadn’t experienced since the cellar.

Ramsay had been so vicious and brutal at the start of captivity. He’d been terrifying, so much so that by the time he started introducing softer words and touches, Theon had been desperate for them.

It felt that way now, with him curled and cowering and hurting on the floor. Only this time Ramsay wasn’t in his right mind, which potentially made him even more dangerous. Theon forced himself to his feet. His head was spinning but he steadied himself on the coffee table.

“- seen you two talking, _smiling_ at each other,” Ramsay was ranting, and good god he had the carpet beater. It was a heavy old thing that had come with the house, usually left to gather dust in the corner like a sort of rustic ornament. “So you two are _friends_ now, huh? You like my brother, Theon? Like sucking his cock too? Think he’sjust so smart and nice? _Ha_ , you don’t have a fucking clue!“

Theon didn’t know what Ramsay was talking about. He’d spent a cumulative 45 minutes in total speaking to Domeric, most of it being smalltalk about Theon’s work in the library. Whereas Ramsay had made no secret of the disdain he felt for Theon’s job, Domeric was apparently very well read. Not that saying so would be a smart idea.

“I was just making conversation to be polite, of course I don’t care about him!” Theon said, watching as Ramsay sliced the beater through the air. “I love _you_!”

“You love me, huh?”

Ramsay grabbed him by the collar and threw him over the surface of the table, sending pens and papers skittering to the floor. Even before his trousers were torn down to his ankles Theon knew what was coming. The carpet beater made an awful whistle as it soared through the air, just before the meaty slap of contact.

It was an especially awful implement to be hit with - hefty but supple lacquered wicker, twisted into loops with minimal air resistance. It was also large enough that a single stroke could hit all of its target, with each subsequent strike falling upon the welts of blows prior.

“Loves me, he says,” Ramsay grunted, his lashes as feral and merciless as the rest of him. “But not enough to stay with me. Not enough to even stay _alive_ when I want him to. Pathetic.”

For a moment Theon was lost for words. It took him a few attempts to vocalize, choked as he was with tears and pain from each strike. A particular sharp hit to his upper thigh had him hissing through his teeth.

“I… I’m trying,” he said weakly, twisting and turning with hands grasped white-knuckled to the table. “I’m n-not well, Ramsay. But I’m trying.”

It was less like being spanked and more like being outright beaten; in his current state Ramsay had little sense of technique or self-control as the hits came down. Fortunately it wasn’t too long before he grew either tired or bored. His footsteps stumbled away as the beater was discarded to the floor. Theon lay trembling across the table, uncertain if he had permission to get up or not.

Then he saw Ramsay fumbling with the fire tools, and his blood ran cold.

“No, no Ramsay you’ll hurt yourself-“

“Be quiet,” Ramsay was looking at the fire poker with keen interest, eyes raking over its curved point. “Do you want to die that badly, Theon? Is that what you’re doing, pushing me to get it over with?”

“No, of course not-“ Theon fluttered over to him in a panic only to be brutally shoved down onto the couch.

The poker was a hard bar against his chest, pinning him into the cushions. Ramsay straddled him heavily, face cast in shadow but grey eyes so, so bright.

“I could do it,” Ramsay said, himself breathing like a winded bull. “You think I can’t?”

“I don’t know,” Theon said softly.

The thin length of the iron rod dug hard into his sternum before moving up to tease his throat. He grit his teeth and made an effort to breathe evenly. Ramsay was teetering in his perch, and Theon had a distinct vision of the man falling backwards and cracking his skull on the coffee table.

Carefully, slowly, he slid his hand up the soft curve of Ramsay’s thigh.

“I don’t want to fight,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you feel this way.”

Ramsay was watching him like a feral beast, eyes tracking every tiny movement. Theon cautiously began to loosen the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other traveling from Ramsay’s hip to the front of his trousers.

“Everything’s alright,” he said hoarsely, fingers stroking Ramsay through his clothes. “You know you’re the only one I want. I’ll show you.”

Something he’d just learned: Ramsay was an easily distractible drunk. The clatter of the fire poker to the floor was deafening.

They hit every single inch of wall from there to the bedroom - or rather, Theon hit every inch of wall. Ramsay threw him in a manner that was half intentional, half poor balance. His sharp teeth ravaged the bare skin of Theon’s throat and collar, leaving a mottling trail of bruises and broken skin behind. Ramsay had no restraint, no sense of his own strength. The best Theon could do was murmur placating words and meekly arch in submission, and otherwise simply hang on for the ride.

Half-formed obscenities and insults and filthy thoughts tumbled past Ramsay’s lips as he flung Theon down upon the bed, its whole frame shuddering from the impact.

“Gentle, gently, babe-“ Theon was realizing with dawning horror that he wasn’t prepared, that this was going to hurt in ways it hadn’t in years.

Ramsay silenced him with a vice grip about the throat, forcing him down into the sheets.

“Shut up,” he hissed, clumsily shucking his trousers and getting one leg caught around his ankle. “I’m gonna fuck you bloody and you’re gonna thank me for it, you-“

He tilted, barely catching himself on his elbow. His full weight was bearing down on Theon’s frame, face buried in his neck.

“Ramsay?”

“I’m gonna - gonna…”

For several moments there was silence. Then, at last, Theon was hearing the soft snores of the deeply asleep and drunk. Amazing.

He tried to shift out from beneath Ramsay’s body, but the man was fully draped across his comparatively smaller and weaker form. He was stuck. Theon sighed and stared into the ceiling, adrenaline fading and leaving the ache of multiple new bruises to take precedence.

* * *

It was a long night of restricted tossing and turning, trapped as he’d been beneath the weight of his partner. Theon awoke feeling no less rested than he had upon finally going under.

Meanwhile Ramsay stretched, catlike, and blearily took stock of himself. He blinked at the bruise on the back of his hand, then at the various other purpling spots from where his careless limbs had knocked into walls or furniture.

“Shit. Went and did myself in last night, huh?”

Theon wryly met his gaze; muscles locked and stiff, chest swollen red and blue, and a bruise forming along the side of his face.

“That’s rough, babe,” he said. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Eh, I’ve had worse.” Ramsay rolled over and noted the state of their undress. “Suppose the night wasn’t a total wash, eh?”

“Yeah.” Theon tiredly rubbed his eyes, wincing at the tenderness of his jaw. “Ramsay, should we- should we talk?”

Ramsay cast him a sidelong look. “About what?”

“About…” Theon fidgeted uncomfortably. “You came home really drunk. And you were saying things that made it seem like it was because I’d upset you.”

Not ‘hurt’. He knew better than to suggest he was capable of hurting Ramsay in any way.

“You know I never mean to make you feel jealous. Or like you could lose me. Between Robb, and your brother, and… the things that I think about doing when I get really low… I don’t want you to think any of that diminishes how I feel for you. I’m yours. I’m sorry if I made you doubt me.”

Ramsay was looking at him in a way that could only be described as abstract fascination. The seconds ticked by. Finally he shook his head with a laugh.

“You’ve really got a lot in common with my dogs, you know that? It’s sweet.” Without another word he rose and padded out of bed, kicking off his half-shucked trousers as he went. “Oh, before I forget, I’ve got you something.”

He rummaged through his pockets with a glint to his eyes that anyone who knew him would have learned to distrust. Gifts from Ramsay were in particular rarely for Theon’s benefit.

“Take it as my apology for getting so worked up,” Ramsay said, pulling him in. “You know I hate it when we fight.”

He always said it as if the fights were two-sided and mutual. Just like normal couples.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Oh hush. I saw it when I was working and I knew it would suit you.”

“When you were working?” Theon’s stomach dropped as Ramsay fished a blood-crusted necklace from his trousers’ back pocket. “Oh god.”

“Ssh. The nice lady who gave them to me won’t be needing them anymore,” Ramsay said gently, clasping the pearls around Theon’s neck despite the whimpered protests. “They’re a greeny-blue under the red, I think. They’ll go so nicely with those pretty eyes of yours.”

Theon shuddered. His mind was already spinning scenarios in his mind, painting a picture of some Bolton dungeon where a bound woman in pearls was being flayed. The necklace felt gritty and cold, iron coming off in rusty flakes on his skin.

“I meant to wash them first,” Ramsay lied, “but I’m sure they’ll clean off well enough in the shower.”

Theon’s mind was a cloudy storm as he was led into the bathroom. The pointed reminder of Ramsay’s nature and capabilities was heavy around his neck - as if his body were not carrying enough of those already.

* * *

Lunasa was another holiday that wasn’t very prominent in the islands. The midpoint between the summer solstice and autumn equinox, it marked the first reaping of grains. A preliminary to the more ornate Harvest Festival, it was most widely marked with the tradition of gifting bread to friends and relatives.

In the days leading up to the festival it seemed like everyone was either kneading dough or running to the local bakeries. It wasn’t uncommon for whole streets to be filled with the aromas of fresh bread, especially outside the city.

The seaside cottage smelled like a bakery in its own right, due in no small part to the flood of neighbors that had been dropping off their own homemade loaves. Word had long gotten out about Theon, aka “that guy they pulled out of the Hornwood Butcher’s dungeon three or four years ago, remember?” Kind, but curious neighbors were apparently using the festivities as an excuse to pop by.

“It’s just the sweetest thing,” one of the old ladies from down the street was saying as she pushed more rolls into Ramsay’s arms. “A strapping young man like you, taking care of that poor dear.”

 _When you could do so much better_ rang clearly between the lines.

Theon sullenly continued to work the dough in his little kitchen. His lacy apron streaked with flour. He hoped that if he sullied it enough, there was a chance he could justify burning it.

All of the people who didn’t know better thought that Ramsay Bolton was the height of nobility. How _compassionate_ and _romantic_ of him, to spend his days tending to a broken wreck from the psych ward.

“You’re too kind. Isn’t Baba Marta so generous, Theon?” Ramsay called over.

“Yes Ramsay. Very generous.”

Sometimes Ramsay invited their neighbors inside purely to soak in their praise and revel in Theon’s discomfort. And to stuff his face with pastries while Theon watched, of course.

“Oh why don’t you come take a seat?” The elderly woman asked. “It looks like a stiff wind could blow you right over.”

Theon smiled wanly. Better to stand on his stiff leg and toil in the kitchen than to sit on his bruises. Ramsay wouldn’t let him eat the sweet rolls anyway.

“I’m fine, really. I need to get this recipe right in time for Lunasa.”

“It’ll keep,” Ramsay said, eyes glinting knowingly. “Come sit. You’re being rude.”

Theon reluctantly left the dough to rise and washed his hands. Immediately after stiffly lowering himself into the hard kitchen chair, he had to stifle a whimper of discomfort.

“We’re visiting my mother upriver,” Ramsay said, putting an arm around Theon’s shoulders. “He’s been so nervous, baking up a storm to get ready.”

Ramsay had certainly enjoyed Theon’s efforts, even though he was always compelled to comment that “mum’s is better” with every pastry or loaf he wolfed down.

“No shame in wanting to make a good impression,” Marta nodded sagely. “My grandson is utterly useless in the kitchen, but in my time baking bread was essential for anyone to know.”

“He’s been working so hard,” Ramsay said proudly, like Theon was a dog he’d taught a particularly impressive trick. “His cooking is surprisingly edible.”

“Oh _you,”_ Marta playfully swatted Ramsay’s arm. “It’s precious. Not like those other ironborn boys you hear about, going about and causing trouble.”

“Trouble? My Theon would never.”

“Well I’m sure you two will have a lovely time this week. Even to travel so far! Of course, it is for family.” The woman gave Theon a sly look. “A man who loves his mother is a fine man indeed.”

“Yeah,” Theon muttered, attention still captured by the painful throbbing in his seat. “I’m real lucky.”

* * *

Lunasa arrived on the first day of the final month of summer. The days were still long and relatively warm by Northern standards, but all too quickly that light would yield to the coming autumn.

As they made the long drive up the river and through the foothills, a covered bread basket sat secured in the backseat. Theon had extracted the recipe from a combination of internet searches and hazy childhood memories of being in the kitchen with his mother, small hands gummy with flour. A traditional ironborn loaf of dark rye and whole wheat, buttermilk and golden syrup, its consistency moist and cakey from slow-baking overnight.

Ramsay had wanted to bite into it immediately (he did that sometimes; if the bread wasn’t cut in time he was prone to simply gnaw into it like an animal) but Theon had been adamant that they save it for his mother.

“She would understand,” Ramsay had grumbled, and Theon bet she would.

The more he thought about it, the more mystified he became about the woman who had birthed and raised Ramsay. Or she had at least done so for the first ten or so years of his life, which was about as long as Theon had been raised by his own mother.

“So what’s she like?”

“What do you mean?” Ramsay said with a shrug. “She’s a mum.”

A bewildering answer, but no more than he’d expected. They continued to drive northward, following the Weeping Water up and beyond the Dreadfort, into higher and higher territories. It was a steep and winding road, the air turning colder than even the Northern summer would expect.

Weepingridge was a quaint and almost idyllic village, if a bit isolated. The train didn’t run nearby, leaving the winding mountain road as the only pass of entry. It ran alongside the river, which was wide and impressive but also looked intimidatingly frigid. Theon had an easy time believing that Ramsay had grown up in such an area. Someplace wild and rural in the deep North, with limited contact to the world outside.

Aside from sparsely scattered petrol stations and inns, the village was a bastion of civilization in the high hills. Hugged on all sides by cliffs and dense woodlands, it stood like something out of a storybook. Ramsay had likely grown up hearing of wolves and bears and wights, just Theon had for merlings and krakens and other things that rose from the deep.

What a funny thing, to realize that Ramsay had once been a child. Not that he’d ever made much effort to stop, but still.

The symbol of Weepingridge seemed to be the great waterfall that flowed from the mountain and cascaded down as the eponymous river. Its stylized image was emblazoned on storefronts and town flags and the bumper stickers of local cars. Charming as the town was, it was too small and cut off to be worth the trouble for anyone other than passionate hikers and sightseers looking for escape. If Long Lake had been a ritzy ski resort, Weepingridge was akin to a humble bed and breakfast.

“That’s her place,” Ramsay nodded as they drove through main street.

Theon caught sight of the store fronts, labeled as “Weeping Mill Bakery”. It boasted a line that was threatening to spill past the curve.

“Is it always that busy?”

“Nah. She just puts out this special festival bread every holiday. People go crazy for it.”

Ramsay’s mother lived at the edge of the woods, right on the outskirts of town. A wooden sign labeled _The Weeping Mill_ signaled when it was time to turn off the road and into the unpaved driveway shrouded in trees. Dead leaves crunching en masse beneath their tires as they approached a two-story riverside cottage with an old waterwheel churning at its back.

“Wow. So the mill is actually functional?”

“Kinda. The place has been pretty well preserved as a historical site or something. Kids come around for tours and everything,” Ramsay said as he killed the engine. “But the old mill is actually a pain in the arse to operate and maintain, so she uses different equipment most of the time. It’s just for the holiday bread that she mills it special.”

They gathered their bags and made their way up the path. Before they even ascended the front stoop, the barking of a large hound had the hairs on Theon’s arms standing up. He hugged the bread basket to his chest and braced himself at the tumbling of incoming footsteps. Then the door was being flung open.

The first thing Theon noticed was that Lauryl Piotrowicz was surprisingly young. Or perhaps it was not so surprising given how young Walda was, and the fact that Ramsay had certainly been unplanned. She seemed to be in her mid-forties with sable hair, hazel eyes and skin almost as fair as her son’s.

She immediately embraced Ramsay with unfeigned delight. Theon barely caught the glint of a wedding band hanging around her neck.

“There you are! Oh, I could barely sleep last night I was so excited,” she cupped Ramsay’s face, squishing his cheeks. He didn’t seem to mind. “You poor baby, making that long drive. Are you hungry?”

“ _Yes_.”

Upon catching sight of Theon her eyes lit up all over again. He froze as she threw her arms around him, his grip tight on his basket.

“And you must be Theon! I’ve heard all about you.”

“Have you?” Theon shot Ramsay a nervous glance.

“Of course!”

She ushered them indoors, where a large black dog was excitedly pacing through the foyer. It nearly leapt on Ramsay with a loud bark, only for the man to give it a prompt signal to sit.

“Has Hunter been a good boy?” He ruffled the dog’s ears, jingling the collar tags. “Has he been protecting mama?”

“Oh yes, he’s been shielding me from all the neighborhood squirrels and raccoons.” Without warning Lauryl grasped Theon by the chin and inspected him with a keen eye. “Now let me see… you’re a sweet one, aren’t you? What earnest eyes! Walda said you were a good boy and I scarcely believed it, given my son’s usual taste.”

“Hey!”

“You talk to Walda?” Theon asked, trying not to feel too awkward as he was released.

“Poor thing. I keep telling her that she can do better and she keeps giving that dirty old man more children.” She plucked the basket from Theon’s arms, either not noticing or simply unfazed by the gaps where his fingers would be. “You didn’t have to bring bread, sweetling. It smells lovely - I had a phase of recreating ironborn formulas, but I could never get the texture quite right.”

“We soak the flour in sea water instead of adding salt.” Better still if the pots could be buried in the volcanic soil of Great Wyk, with the bread baked without ever touching an oven at all.

“Of course you do.” Lauryl led him down the hall to the kitchen, which was lined with stuffed burlap sacks. “Pardon the clutter, I’ve been milling all week. Between Lunasa and the Harvest Festival and the solstice after that, now is when I build up the surplus to carry us to the new year.”

“You’re very industrious, Ms. P- Pio- uh-“

“Just Lauryl, please. Gods know only Ramsay can pronounce my late husband’s name.”

Theon glanced back down the hall where Ramsay was still romping with the dog. “You were married.”

“He died before Ramsay was born,” she said casually. “Roose Bolton killed him, you see.”

Theon nearly tripped over his own feet.

“O-oh.”

She gave him a wry smile. “My husband was a good man, but young and foolish… and the Boltons have always charged heavy interest on their loans.”

Theon didn’t ask where getting pregnant with Roose’s bastard factored in. He had a feeling it wasn’t a romantic story.

For lack of knowing what to say, Theon looked around the kitchen with its adjoined dining room. Framed photos decorated the walls, the fridge, the shelves. Young Ramsay playing in sandboxes or hugging dogs or sleeping in his cradle.

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you! It was my husband’s. His brother tried to take it after his passing - imagine, trying to evict your pregnant sister-in-law out of greed.” Lauryl laughed humorlessly. “Ah well. He didn’t get far with it, in any case.”

Theon didn’t know what he’d expected. He had just always assumed Ramsay had a loveless upbringing: the unwanted Snow to a widely feared man. Clearly there was a lot more going on here than he’d originally estimated.

“That’s quite the bruise you’ve got,” Lauryl said mildly as she sliced through bread with a long, serrated blade. “I have salve if you need.”

“Oh no. I’m fine.”

She looked at him for a moment, expression genuinely unreadable. Then she returned to her work of preparing lunch.

“You _are_ a good boy, Theon. I’m glad,” she said. “Ramsay’s always needed someone kind and patient to look after him. He’s never known how to handle his emotions by himself.”

A vague sickness Theon couldn’t explain was beginning to settle in his stomach.

“Domeric said something similar.”

Lauryl laughed coldly. “That foolish boy, good grief. Don’t you go falling under his spell, now. It’s by the gods’ mercy he isn’t dead yet.”

Theon opened his mouth to respond, only to nearly jump out of his skin when he was suddenly embraced from behind.

“So,” Ramsay said, the large dog still chuffing at his feet. “What are we talking about?”

* * *

Ramsay didn’t waste time showing Theon all of his old haunts.

“That’s my old school, I got suspended for stabbing a kid with a pencil. I also used to poke holes in teacher’s car tires, but I never got caught for that. Over there is the town square, I would throw seeds at people and watch them get chased by birds. Oh and that’s the statue of the village founder, I’m pretty sure I pissed on it once-“

On and on. Honestly Ramsay had been an unholy terror as a child, and the entire town must have breathed a sigh of relief when Roose Bolton took custody.

“After I got expelled, there weren’t a lot of options,” Ramsay said, a guiding hand around Theon’s waist as they walked through the park. “We had to call my father, who agreed to take me in so that mum wouldn’t have to move.”

“Why were you expelled?”

Ramsay dramatically rolled his eyes. “Some kid in an upper year was being a prick so I cuffed him in the boiler room. Then I kinda forgot him there.”

Theon wasn’t sure if he should be horrified or relieved that it wasn’t something worse.

“Was he alright?”

“He was fine! It was only like two days. Honestly they should’ve blamed the custodian for not finding him sooner.” Ramsay grinned, laughter bubbling to the surface. “Oh man, it was great. He’d pissed _and_ shit himself, plus fucking dehydrated himself from all the crying so they had to put him on a drip. He dropped out of school to go to therapy for a year, and I heard he still can’t be in a dark room without breaking down.”

Theon frowned. He was leaning heavily on Ramsay for balance. They had been walking for so long that his bad leg and what remained of his feet were straining and aching in protest of the prolonged use.

“Your tastes manifested early, then.”

“You could say that. But don’t be jealous - you know they meant nothing to me.” He kissed Theon on the temple. “They never do.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep making that _face_ whenever it comes up. It’s exhausting. Do I flay other people? Yes. Does it get me hard? Of course. But I always come home to _you_.” Ramsay scoffed irritably. “Now quit dragging your feet. You and I both know it’s been years since I did anything to you there.”

“Being impaled with a metal spike and then losing a few toes tends to have some long-term effects,” Theon muttered. “We’ve been walking all over town, I need to take a break.”

Ramsay sighed heavily. “You’re being a baby.”

“I don’t know what I’m being, I’m just telling you that if I don’t sit down I’m going to fall down.”

“You-“ He stopped short, ears suddenly catching the soft tones of an ice cream truck. “Alright, fine. You sit here and wait for me. I’ll be right back.”

With that he swiftly parked Theon on the nearby bench before making for the truck, his quick stride easily outpacing the various children that were also going that way.

Theon watched him go with bemusement. He shook his head and tried to stretch his aching muscles, hoping and praying he didn’t trigger a spasm. He was pretty sure he could feel his very bones throbbing within his limbs.

“Hey.”

Theon looked up. A stranger was standing by the bench, looking nervous but somber. A young man, roughly his equal in age.

“You’re with Snow, then?”

“Bolton,” Theon corrected. “Yeah.”

The man swore. “ _Bolton_ , fucking hell. Of course he is. Gods.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

The man waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter who I am. I just want to give you some advice: Ramsay’s bad news. Mrs. P’s alright and all, but her kid’s a fucking demon and always has been. If you knew what was good for you, you’d run for the hills.”

“I don’t-“

“You’re disabled, right? Is that what it is, he’s preying on you ‘cause you can’t fight him off? Training you to need him or some textbook shit?” The guy asked. “Whatever he’s told you or whatever he’s got on you, it ain’t true and it ain’t worth it. I dunno how you go about safely leaving a guy like that, but trust me - you’re better off alone.”

And with that, he was gone. Theon watched him leave before casting a wary eye around the park. Immediately he could spot various people sneaking covert glances his way.

“Thanks,” Theon mumbled to himself, sinking back into the bench. “But that advice is a couple months too late.”

* * *

On the day of Lunasa, Ramsay’s mother left early to prepare. The crowd at the bakery was as ravenous as ever, and after closing time Theon planned to help set up her stall at the festival.

He wouldn’t lie and say it hadn’t been an awkward past few days. At least it had been for him; Lauryl and Ramsay both seemed completely at ease. Lauryl eagerly cooked and doted on them without reservation, and although Theon could now tell where Ramsay had gotten his spoiled attitude and utter disregard for personal space, it was pleasant. Even if sometimes the woman casually said unnerving things, or got a strangely cunning look in her eyes, none of that was Theon’s business.

“You’re trying to think again,” Ramsay said, toying with Theon's pearls. “What have I told you about that?”

Theon shrugged. The pair of them were still beneath the covers, heedless of the sunlight spilling across the childhood bedroom. It looked normal, really: just toys and building sets and video games.

“Lauryl’s really nice.”

“She can be.”

“I just… can’t help but wonder what my mother would think of me now,” Theon said. “I think she’d probably be sad.”

“You are pretty sad to look at, yeah.”

Theon ignored the gibe. He had spent so much time chasing after the love he didn’t have instead of focusing on what he did. He should have never let his father make him feel ashamed of being close to his mother. Should never have made _himself_ feel ashamed of caring for Robb.

“I wonder if she would have liked you.”

“What do you mean ‘wonder’? What's not to like?”

Theon prodded at the bruises on his jaw. They didn’t hurt anymore but a faded mottling of the skin was still visible.

“Oh come on. You’re fucking ironborn and you probably got worse under your own roof.”

“Maybe so.”

Theon could see his mother being charmed by Ramsay in much the same way their neighbors were: a strong and capable man, one who could take control of Theon and steer him proper. Yet on the other hand, there was little doubt that Alannys would take one look at Theon and see all of his painful secrets written in his eyes.

Did Lauryl know the full truth about Ramsay? She certainly knew her share about Roose Bolton. She was also smart enough to connect the dots, and Theon couldn’t imagine Ramsay would lie to her in any case.

After all these years of searching for one, _this_ was the family he’d found himself in?

That really was sad.

* * *

In the end Ramsay hadn’t been interested in setting up the stall. He’d left Theon and Lauryl to it, along with two of the bakery’s employees.

“It’s very kind of you, Theon,” Lauryl said as they arranged the display, lining fresh pastries alongside one another in neat rows. “But you don’t have to. It’s your first time here and you should enjoy the festival.”

“It’s fine really.” It wasn’t like Ramsay would let him buy anything.

“The two of you aren’t having a row, are you? You’ve seemed awfully somber lately.”

Theon avoided her gaze. All around them other stalls were being assembled, with a trickling of early arrivals already milling through the town square. Fairy lights strung through the trees and around lamp posts were flickering on as the sun began to set.

“We don’t really have rows.” Not real ones. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I get like this.”

“Honey, I think you’re entitled to a little melancholy now and then,” she said. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He did, though. He was forever atoning for his weakness.

“Was it difficult?” He asked suddenly. “Raising Ramsay?”

“Well I’m sure you’ve noticed it’s a task and a half to get vegetables in him. I swear, I had him on vitamin patches for years because I was afraid he’d die of scurvy at age nine.” Lauryl sighed. “And of course he’s always been… special. Strong-willed. I’ve never regretted him, though. What happened to my husband was not his fault. And when I was alone, he gave me a reason to push through.”

Theon nodded solemnly.

“… I’m sorry about your husband.”

Lauryl looked at him with some surprise. He wondered if anyone had ever told her that before.

“And I’m sorry about what happened to you, Theon.”

The moment passed between them, heavy with some unspoken meaning. Then Lauryl was wrapping a braided loaf in biodegradable paper and handing it to him.

“Here. Go find Ramsay and enjoy the festival, will you? We’ll be alright here.”

Theon accepted the bread without protest. Better for him to leave before the festival began and the square grew too crowded, anyway.

He wandered the square and its adjacent streets, but nowhere did he find Ramsay. His phone hadn’t been able to get a usable signal since passing the county line, which left him little options. He tried to tamp down on the bubble of panic in his chest - he wasn’t lost, he knew where Lauryl was, he and Ramsay eventually finding each other was inevitable. It was all fine.

The bread was heavy in his hands as he followed the strings of fairy lights down the street and towards the town godswood. A small town this far North didn’t have a sept, just a small sacred grove cordoned off from the rest of the wilderness.

Theon walked the winding dirt path lined with garden lights, the sound of the river growing louder. A tributary from the Weeping Water ran through the grove, fueling a small, squared clootie well. The night air was cool and fresh in the godswood, with a hint of the coming autumn carried on its lazy breeze. All around him, the tree branches were adorned in colorful strips of cloth, each representing wishes or offerings to the Old Gods.

At the center of it all was the heart tree, its carving the likeness of a face in troubled sleep. Laid amongst its roots were various offerings of bread, eaves of corn and small bushels of grain. Crows cawed and pecked at the bounty; Old Nan would have called them gods or spirits in disguise, accepting their tributes.

Theon laid his bread amongst the many others before sliding to his knees in the soil and fallen leaves. He hadn’t prayed to the greenlander gods since his time in the bunker. Had they heard him after all? Was this part of their design too, or had Theon disappointed them too by failing to remain free?

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong,” he said. “My gods, my mother, my sister, Robb, Ramsay’s other victims… everyone who ever helped me. I know I let them down.”

The grim face of the weirwood stared bleakly back at him.

“I love him. I can’t help it. He made me. I can’t stop being what he made,” Theon took a shaky breath. “I need him to love me too. I don’t care in what way. If it’s as a man, or a lover, or a dog. I just can’t be without him.”

He sniffed and wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. The grove was quiet save for the trickling of water and rustling of birds.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I was a waste. Please forgive me.”

A crow hopped towards his loaf and began to peck through the paper. Elsewhere was the fluttering of another bird taking flight. The heart tree continued to frown on him in silence.

* * *

“Where the _hell_ were you!?”

Upon reunion Ramsay had all but grabbed Theon by the neck and dragged him through town. They wound up in his car, plowing at reckless speed away from the festival and into the night.

“You said you would be with my mother. I didn’t give you permission to wander around alone!” Ramsay shouted. “When we’re separated, you stay put until I find you, understand?”

“Sorry,” Theon mumbled. “I just wanted to go somewhere quiet.”

“This isn’t about what you want! For _two hours_ I had no idea where you were. You could have been eaten by a fucking bear for all I knew!”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _Stop saying you’re fucking sorry!_ ” Ramsay removed one hand from the wheel just long enough to cuff Theon hard across the cheek. “I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry! I want to see with my two fucking eyes that you know how to behave. I want to stop waking up wondering if this is the day you finally get so fucking _sad_ that you finally off yourself!”

Theon could feel himself shrinking down, curling into himself. Ramsay rarely yelled at him like this, and whilst sober to boot. He’d almost forgotten how terrible it felt.

“What else do I have to do? I give you _everything_! I didn’t even have to let you see the fucking _sun_ again, and you still have the fucking audacity to be this ungrateful!”

Theon eyed him wearily.

 _Did I scare you?_ He wanted to ask. **_Do_** _I scare you?_

Ramsay met his gaze, eyes wild and feral. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like that!?”

“Pull over.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He did it anyway, car skidding to a stop in the middle of the dark and empty street.

Theon was already unbuckling his seatbelt and clambering over the gear stick to straddle Ramsay’s lap.

“The hell do you-“

“Ssh.”

He kissed him long and slow, trying desperately to communicate with his mouth what he couldn’t with his words. Ramsay pushed him away with a baffled look on his face.

“Don’t think you can just whore your way out of this,” Ramsay hissed. “I’m at my wit’s end with you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Theon said seriously. “It won’t happen again.”

“Words are cheap.”

Theon looked at him inscrutably. “I give you everything too. I didn’t have to keep you out of prison. We both know I didn’t really do it because of your threats.”

Ramsay’s stormy expression calmed somewhat, reducing to a more mild pout. “You’re the strangest thing I’ve ever made.”

When Theon kissed him again he was more receptive, rolling his seat back to give them more room. Theon crowded against his warmth, tasting honeyed bread on his lips. Somewhere in the distance were the calls of crows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1AM and there are probably so many typos in this. Ah well.
> 
> So obviously my timing is a bit of a mess, ha. Be Mine focused on late winter, XOXO on summertime, and the eventual sequel fic will focus on autumn (so obviously it be posted long after this season has passed irl).  
> Sorry for the slow updates, I’ve been pretty depleted by work and other shenanigans. However I am still determined to update Tooth and Claw around Halloween weekend, so try to stay tuned for that!
> 
> Trivia: Lunasa is a real pagan holiday (although usually spelled Lughnasadh). I also combined it with its Christian counterpart, Lammas. The ironborn bread recipe Theon made is actually an Icelandic one, Hverabrauð, and it's either baked by slow overnight heating, or [preferably] by being buried in geothermal soil.


End file.
